The Thing About Pain
by CompYES
Summary: The thing is, just because she could take the pain, doesn't mean that she should have. Cause now? Now she's got an adorkable, socially awkward superhero she didn't need trailing after her, trying to make friends. That, and a passel of metahumans who seem to think her apartment makes for a great safe house. [Starts with S1E4 "Going Rogue"]
1. Chapter 1: Demands to Be Felt

**Disclaimer:** Don't own "The Flash," don't even own the title (it's a quote rip off from  The Fault In Our Stars). I just own the OC. See end for more notes.

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 **Chapter 1:** Demands to Be Felt

Plenty of things happened at night. Good things, bad things. Maybe more bad than good, what with the increased amount of crime and accidents. However, there was some guy who dressed in red, ran super fast, and liked to save the day to tip scales back to the good. At least, Mr. Red was what a lot of blogs online were chattering about. Not that she was one to pay attention to what blogs were saying, but everywhere she went, someone was whispering curiously about it and she wasn't deaf. Hearing about it always made her snort - out loud in private and internally in public - though not for the reason most people would think.

Most people would probably think she scoffed at the super powers part of the vigilante with superpowers equation.

Maybe if she'd been almost anyone else, that really would've been why.

As it was, super powers like running super fast was not the most impossible thing she could believe in. The fact that someone would go running around in red and saving people _was._ Running around in a bright red suit was ridiculous enough on its own, but the fact that someone would use an ability like that for good? She could count on both hands and still need hands for the number of people she knew who would probably have abused that power by now. Like robbed a bank on the other side of the country knowing that they would never get caught.

Sure, she was probably the worst kind of cynic who needed a better outlook on life, or needed to rethink her future career as a social worker. And she probably needed to meet make new acquaintances if that was the caliber of people she was spent time with on a regular basis.

Seriously though, at least one thing she'd believed about nights was right: bad shit happened.

The proof was in the night she'd just had not long ago. She'd been on a late night train home to Keystone one second, then thrown into the air the next, and then deposited safely on the ground near the train tracks after that. Said train was busy crashing and blowing up in the background like it had been part of some terrible action movie sequence. And as if to complete the picture, Mr. Red was suddenly there on the ground amongst the wreckage. With some self-styled villain type standing over him, too, looking just as if not more ridiculous than his tightly leathered counterpart in that stupid parka.

Just as she was thinking that the cherry of witnessing murder was going to top her bad night sundae, three people holding a huge machine that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi flick threatened the villain guy with it. At least, it looked like threatening, she couldn't really hear anything that was said over the sound of the roaring flame right next to her. She inched away from it, and closer to where the confrontation was happening. But not too close, she had about zero percent interest in being shot with whatever the glowing blue substance in either weapon was. It looked like a not so great experience, if Mr. Red's condition was any indication.

As they kept talking and she kept inching closer, she evaluated the situation.

Mr. Red was real. Like an actual superhero. Cool, probably?  
If there be superheroes, there be supervillains. It made sense.  
There was a wrecked train and she wasn't wrecked with it. So…

Did that mean Mr. Red saved her life?

If he did, well. That was- that was something.

What did you do when someone saved your life? She'd never had her life saved before, at least not in the traditional sense, and especially never by a superhero. Was she just supposed to thank him? Just saying thank you seemed a little lame. Also, did that make her a damsel in distress? Well, she wasn't exactly still in distress, she hadn't even had time to really be in distress. Was she even supposed to be mad? Honestly, gratitude outweighed everything else.

She was pulled from her thoughts when she felt she was being watched. There was no one there when she looked up; Mr. Red was being happy mobbed by the people holding the machine thing, and she only just caught glimpse of the villain disappearing into parts unknown. Which was good, she supposed. His escape was likely to be problematic later, but she could live with temporary fixes. Hopefully she wouldn't be on any form of public transportation he would be crashing any time soon.

There was also a decision here.

Before her brain got to making it, her feet did it for her. She found herself standing in front of the four people. Their conversation had cut short when they saw her approaching, and their gazes grew wary. With pain mixed in on Mr. Red's part. And that reminded her of what she really came over here to do.

"Hey," she greeted them, lifting one hand to give a clipped wave, which the blonde with glasses and not-superhero guy awkwardly returned, "I'm Michela. Thank you for saving my life."

"Just- just doin' my job, miss," Mr. Red said with a grimace and a weak salute, though his charm fell flat. He still got points for the effort.

" _We've got to go_ ," the redhead whispered frantically to the group, as if Michela weren't there.

The blonde, redhead, and the brunet (her brain guttered out for a second at the observation, because _damn,_ they were all attractive on top of that) all moved to get the injured superhero onto his feet. Michela stepped closer and wasn't surprised to see them try and put themselves between him and her. It was cute.

"Sorry, just lemme help. If I do this, it'll be better," she promised, elbowing her way through.

"No, stop!" The blonde woman exclaimed, the redhead making similar noises.

But she was through, and Mr. Red was right there, watery hazel, green eyes locking with her own dark ones. And then she had a hand on either side of his jaw.

"Breathe, okay?" She told him, and then _pulled._

Some thoughts occurred to her, then and there.

The first being that she needed goddamn pain meds like right now, because the perpetual migraine that lived in her brain now had a dance partner in the searing, prickling sensation along her lower back and gut.

The second being that she was on the ground, curled into the fetal position.

The third being that there were a lot of voices going off loudly above her.

And fourth being that she was an idiot who, despite knowing that it was a complete and utter mistake, had walked right up to Mr. Red and his posse and revealed her own stupid ability.

She'd blame it on the near death experience later.

"What's wrong with her?" Michela heard Mr. Red's voice cut through everything, "And- And why does nothing hurt anymore?"

"Metahuman! Metahuman!" Someone squawked excitedly.

"Did she heal you?! Unzip and let me see!"

"Did that sound dirty to you, or is it just me?"

"Definitely dirty."

"Hey, hey, you can check me over later, right now, let's help her."

Michela felt herself being coaxed out of fetal position and onto her back. She couldn't fight the need to wrap her arms protectively around her middle. Through teary eyes, she looked up at the four of them.

"Are you okay?" Mr. Red asked from where he knelt beside her, the visible features of his face beneath the mask pinched with concern.

"Peachy," she replied in a wheeze, " _So_ okay, you don't even know."

"Somehow, I don't believe you," he snarked back, making her lips twitch up feebly in response, "Really though, what did you do?"

"Oh, you know, took your pain." The second she felt actual tears coming on, she threw an arm up to cover her eyes, making a thumbs up with the hand of that arm. "Felt like it was a better way to say thank you than just saying thank you. Hurts like a bitch though. What did you do to piss that guy off?"

That drew a choked off chuckle out of him.

"So you didn't heal him?" Though she couldn't see her, she had a feeling that had been the blonde.

"No," she groaned out with a shake of her head, "My first born to whoever has painkillers they are willing to part with."

Someone pressed pills into her hand and she swallowed those suckers down dry in an instant. It was going to take a while to kick in, but future her would thank her then.

"Really though," Redhead started again, "If we stay here any longer, the police will arrive and we really don't want them catching us."

"Go, you should go," Michela agreed, making a shooing motion at them with a hand.

"We'll take you with us," Mr. Red insisted, "You're hurt."

"No thanks," she insisted back, her weak smile starting to wear into gritted teeth, "I'll be fine. You four are giving off, 'return to base' and 'secret identity' vibes, and I'm just going to cramp your style."

"But-" Mr. Red tries.

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" Redhead cut him off hurriedly.

"Yeah, it's just pain. Let the paramedics take care of me whenever they get here. I'll be in good hands."

Lifting her arm away from her eyes, she looked up at the distraught face of her savior. He looked as if he wanted to say something more. She wondered if she was the first person he'd encountered so far who also had abilities like he did. Until she'd started hearing about him, she'd thought she'd been alone, too.

"Hey," she said softly to him, putting a hand on his knee, "If you wanna find me later to talk, look me up. My full name is Michela Calhoun. I have facebook."

There was that chuckle again.

"I might just do that."

By the tone of his voice, it didn't sound like it would be just _might_.

"Now get out of here. Live to hero another day."

He snorted, then grasped the hand resting on his knee with his own gloved one and squeezed.

"Thanks," he told her, releasing her hand, "And take care of yourself."

"Sure thing, Mr. Red."

And then her eyes slipped shut and all she focused on was breathing deeply without hissing in agony on every exhale. The next time she opened them, a paramedic was squatting down and assessing her condition. She told him she was experiencing her usual migraines, exacerbated by the stress of the freak train crash. Thankfully, the paramedics chased off any cops who tried to ask her questions. Someone also managed to locate her cellphone and bring it to her before she was trundled off to the hospital due to her complaints of excessive pain and settled in for the night for observation. Michela sifted through the panicked and worried phone messages and texts she'd received from school friends and her uncle who heard about the train wreck.

The last thing she did before she fell asleep for the night was shoot all of them (less than grammatical and confusing - _she was tired and on drugs, okay?_ ) texts to let them know she was fine. Just as she began to fade for good, she felt a gust of wind blow through her room. If she was less out of it, she might've questioned why it was windy in a hospital room with firmly shut windows and doors.

As it was, she didn't notice there was a new number in her contacts until now, only a day later, when she was back to her normal routine at her internship and she got a text from someone listed as "Mr. Red." Frankly, she'd been pretty sure she'd hallucinated talking to the guy while high. Except. Except apparently she really had been that special kind of dumb in revealing what she could do to a man with questionable tastes in fashion and hobbies.

Proof that the whole thing _had_ happened was right there, in the three words that stared damningly back up at her from her phone.

 _-Can we talk?-_

Just how out of it had she been to make that offer? Had she really had time to trade contact info like that? And did he not even realize how much of a bad idea it was talking to her? Not getting involved with civilians was textbook superhero modus operandi. Except for the fact that she'd kind of outed herself as not one hundred percent civilian. So maybe this all circled back to her being an idiot.

In the midst of her freak out, she received a handful of texts.

 _-Hello?-  
_ _-Michela?-  
_ _-You know who this is right?-  
_ _-From the trainwreck?-_

Jesus, the guy had no chill. Which helped surprisingly, because as a result, she was coming down from her own lack of chill.

 _-Hello?-_

She could just ignore him. She really could. It would be really shitty after basically telling him he could talk to her and he'd seemed really hopeful when she said so. That part she remembered at least. But if her messy childhood had taught her anything, she needed to look out for herself first and inviting a superhero into her life was not going to help her in that endeavor. Her phone pinged again. And again and again, faster than she expected.

 _-Are you mad im sending so many txts?-  
_ _-Or bc of you kno…?-  
_ _-Or cuz i put my # on ur phone?-_

So that's what happened.

- _Im rly sry-  
_ _-Sry-_

Oh hell, she really needed to put the guy out of his misery, he'd already devolved into chatspeak. If she didn't, he could take this to the next step with weepy emoticons or something. It was hard to even actually be mad because it was just that pitiful. Taking a fortifying breath, she started typing back.

 _-STOP-_

And after a deafeningly long bout of silence, she sent one more text, because she was as good at compounding her mistakes as ever.

 _-Hey Mr. Red. So you wanna talk?-_

Michela immediately shoved her phone into her purse to ignore for a while and nodded grimly to herself. She definitely deserved all the things - bad, good, whatever - that she had coming for this.

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 **AN:** First fic ever for "The Flash"/DCverse. I just started watching the show, and Barry Allen/Grant Gustin is adorable and I just wanted to give him another friend. Not sure about whether there will be an OC pairing yet, I just need a broship between Michela and Barry, as I continue to develop Michela's character and how she will impact the plot.

Also, shameless plug: if you are looking for another OC story and like Marvel/Captain America, check out my story "Perception." Less shameless plug: "Tides of Lightning" by FruitCup is a Barry/OC fic I just started reading that is really good so far and needs love! I'm looking forward to leaving FruitCup a review when I can.


	2. Chapter 2: Uncomplicated, Mostly

**Chapter 2:** Uncomplicated, Mostly

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This was the stupidest thing she'd ever done.

That had been the theme for the last couple days, because she kept on doing stupid things to top other stupid things. Like this. Like standing in the middle of the rooftop of her apartment building, waiting, phone clutched tightly in her hand. Her thumb hovered over the call button, '911' already punched in. Not that it was likely the phone would help. If she was actually in any trouble, she'd never be able to press that button in time.

All this had begun when she'd started (with great reluctance) texting back and forth with the local superhero. Their conversations so far had been... okay? For texting about meeting face-to-face, at least. He'd told her a surprising amount about himself already, and for every five to ten of his texts she'd send one text trying to keep him on track about meeting in person. She was half convinced the guy was underaged, based off of his attention span and rapid fire texting alone. Michela sincerely hoped he wasn't because that would mean she'd hit an all time low. Catfished by a teenager (not that this was _that_ , but just _no_ ).

Just as she was about to text and ask, he was suddenly there in front of her in a burst of red and gold light. The light was so bright, she had to clap her hands over her eyes to stave off the steep spike in discomfort in her brain. She held her hands there for almost a ten count, reveling in the soothing darkness.

"Michela?" She heard a tentative voice say. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, Mr. Red, peachy," she replied, before finally pulling her hands away, "And wow, deja vu, I'm guessing you still don't believe me?"

"You guessed right." Looking up at him then, she blinked in shock at how it took tipping her head back until she was finally looking him in the eye. "What happened?"

"TBI." At the look of confusion on his masked features she explained further, making a flippant gesture at her head. "Traumatic brain injury, once upon a lifetime ago. There were lasting consequences, light sensitivity and migraines among other things."

"Oh." There was dawning realization about what set her off. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't know." She reached out to pat him once on the arm, inconspicuously turning off and pocketing her phone as she did it.

They stood there, staring at each other in silence for almost a minute before he opened his mouth again. "So…"

"I have a question," Michela cut him off, "And it's really important to me that you answer it honestly, okay?"

"Okay." His expression adopted that wariness she remembered from the first time they met.

"How old are you?" The wariness morphed quickly into bewilderment. "Actually, no need to give me an exact number if you're not comfortable with me knowing that, but what I really need to know is that you are not a minor. For my peace of mind."

There was something like exasperation warring with amusement on his features.

Mr. Red huffed, "Do I really look that young?"

"I don't know. I can only see like half of your face, and what I do see is too youthful to be reassuring." She frowned at him.

"I'm not a minor. And if it helps reassure you, I'm twenty-five."

"Huh." Michela leaned in, peering closely up at his face. "You're older than me."

"Wait," he said his own eyes widening, "How old are you?"

"Hey, no worries, I'm twenty-three, adult territory too, mostly." They shared a smile. "So, as clandestine as meeting on the roof is, could we actually have this conversation in my apartment where it's warm and I have leftover lasagna?"

"Well uh, you know," he said scratching at the back of his neck, his smile tinged with chagrin, "I actually have no objections to that suggestion. What's your apartment number and floor?"

With some unease at disclosing it, she rattled off the information requested. When he asked if her door was locked and she shook her head no, all she got was a grin in warning before she suddenly experienced the same sensation she had the day of the train crash. A second of weightlessness, displacement, vertigo. And now they were stood just inside her front door, and Mr. Red was shutting the door behind them, taking an extra second to lock it, too.

"Okay," she drawled out, steadying herself on the wall beside her, "Next time, ask before you do… that. Or give me a heads up so I can brace myself. We're lucky that didn't do anything funky to me because of, you know."

The superhero turned to her, looking mortified.

"God, I'm sorry, you're right, I should've asked-" he babbled.

"Just don't do it again, okay?" He did his best impression of a bobble head, and her tone turned wry. "I'm admittedly a little fragile, so handle with care, yeah?"

"Yeah," he nodded a little slower, his expression that of a miserably guilty puppy even with the mask covering a lot of it.

It was making her feel guilty too, and that was really not fair.

"Also, you need to ask me a question so that it'll be fair for me to ask you another one," she prompted him from over her shoulder as she started heading for the kitchen.

"Question?" His voice came from behind her, his footsteps following her. "Oh yeah, um, I sort of, brought a list?"

That got a laugh out of her.

"Then start with question number one on the list while I warm up the lasagna, Mr. Red."

Not waiting to hear what he thought, she pulled the tin lasagna tray out of her refrigerator, peeling the foil on top back to inspect the contents. There was still about half the tray left and she knew that she could eat anywhere from a quarter to a third of it on her own. She couldn't guess at what his appetite would be like, so tobe on the safe side, she tented the foil and stuffed the entire tray in the oven instead of dishing separate portions out and microwaving it. Once she was done with that and had a timer set, she turned around and leaned back against the oven, looking at Mr. Red. He looked so bizarre, in his costume, standing in the middle of her kitchen, hands fiddling with a slightly crumpled piece of paper.

"It's actually, not a question on the list," he finally spoke up, glancing away from the paper and at her face. She shrugged, and gestured for him to continue. "I just, you seem really calm about everything."

"You expected me to freak out." He nodded. "I am a bit, on the inside. But you're right, it doesn't seem like it. I've just had almost a year to get used to the fact that I could do something that I couldn't really explain. And about a month to get used to the fact that someone else out there was about as explainable as I was."

"I like the word impossible better," the man quipped, and she sensed there was an inside joke in there somewhere based on the air of bemusement around him.

"Impossible or not, we're here, and we can do these things," Michela said, "And at the end of the day, it comes down to choosing what do we do about it. You decided to be a superhero in red, something I don't understand at all, but for the sake of this blossoming friendship, I'm going to try not to judge." He made a face at her and she made one right back, though they both ended up grinning. "I decided to just keep being me."

"Not more?" He asked, sounding curious rather than anything else.

"I never needed to be more," she answered, hating the defensive edge that came through, "And what I can do, it's not like what you can."

"But-" he cut himself off.

"I know what you're thinking." She paused, forcing her shoulders not to hike up to her ears. "At least, I think so. What I can do, taking pain, yeah, that can help people. People who have been hurt, people who are sick, it would probably be a big relief taking that pain. But if I do that, I hurt myself. That show I put on for you and your friends at the trainwreck wasn't for show. I feel it. And it sucks. And maybe it's selfish of me, but I don't want it. Not on top of what I already live with."

"Hey, no," he said, walking forward and hesitating for a second before putting a hand on either of her shoulders, "I don't think that. At least, I only thought it for a second, but I know what it feels like getting shot by Captain Cold. And you took that for me, so I _know_ it sucked. I would never ask you to put yourself through that for me. Or for anyone else."

Michela stared at him for a long stretch of time and then lowered her gaze to his chest with a laugh.

"Man, I can't keep looking up at you like that, you are too tall. And I still can't take you seriously with the mask and the suit and…"

"You said you weren't going to be judgemental about the suit," Mr. Red groused, though his eyes were bright.

"I just can't, I'm never going to stop being judgemental about the suit," she cackled, "Really, why red?"

Whatever his response was going to be, it was cut off by a long rumbling growl from his stomach, probably from the smell of lasagna wafting strong from the oven now. It might've been her imagination, but his face might have pinked a bit around the edges of his mask. She started swatting at the hands on her shoulders and went rummaging through her cupboards until she found an already open bag of Milano cookies. Standing again to face him, she held the bag out to him.

"Appetizer?"

"Have I mentioned before that I like the way you think?" The superhero gushed, his hand already stuffed into the bag, "Because I do, really."

"Clearly," she snickered, "Once you're done with that, you're gonna pull your weight and set the table. We can get back to tackling that list of yours once we've both eaten, 'cause I'm hungry and you're starving."

"Okay," he said, his lips tugged up in a huge, crumb covered smile.

* * *

That was how she found herself having dinner with an actual superhero. And so what if the two of them had practically eaten the leftovers out of the tray and she'd even left him to his own devices to go change into pajamas at one point? She'd watched the guy go through her entire stash of cookies, clean out the lasagna tray with little help from her, and have the audacity to drink half the gallon of milk before she'd smacked at him to stop. Neither of them were working hard to impress the other by the end of the night.

They hadn't even really gotten through all of his questions either. She might've been to blame, considering how doggedly she demanded answers for "why red?" among other asinine questions. Not once did she try to pry into any further personal information from him, though. It felt like the entire time, he'd been on edge waiting for her to trick him into divulging his secret identity and she just… didn't want to. It was fun she admitted to herself, hanging out and getting to know dumb little things about him. And something she hadn't even realized she'd been holding too tightly inside of herself had actually loosened when she finally talked about what had happened to her, to both of them. But she didn't need more from him. Didn't really need the name or face behind the mask. The anonymity actually made it easier to wake up the next morning like everything was still mostly normal and uncomplicated.

Real names and real faces couldn't give her that.

Texts continued to flow freely between them - albeit unevenly because he still didn't know how not to barrage her with texts - and he stopped by her apartment a couple times to eat more of her food and ask the next question on his list. It stayed simple like that, all the way until she was sitting on her couch one night unwinding for the day with takeout. Enough to feed a small army, just in case he showed up then or later. Her phone pinged when she was halfway through her first spring roll. Looking down at it, the only hint that something was about to happen was one word:

- _Incoming_ -

Michela only had enough time to unlock her door and step away and then he was standing in front her. A redheaded woman completely different from the one who had been with him the first time they met was standing at his side, vigilantly surveying her surroundings.

"Hey!" Mr. Red breathed out, nervousness oozing off of him, "I uh, there's a reason for this and-"

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she raised a hand to stop him. When she opened them, it was to him wincing and the woman shifting from one foot to another.

"Food first," she sighed, not bothering to hide the annoyance tinging her tone, "We eat and then I decide if I'm kicking you out once we're done."

* * *

 **AN:** Barry, you fool. Besides Barry being a terrible guest, guess who he brought with?

Also, as far as Michela's brain injury goes, I am writing strictly from research and if anyone wants to offer information, insight, or suggestions as to how to better write about a character with a brain injury, I'm all ears.


	3. Chapter 3: Forgiveness, Not Permission

**Chapter 3:** Ask Forgiveness, Not Permission

* * *

The woman - whose name was Bette Sans Souci - turned out to be a damn delight. She was the full package; beautiful, nice employment record, and most importantly, came with impeccable manners. Michela made her opinions on her unexpected house guest known loudly and repetitively as she ploughed through another spring roll. It was gratifying to watch Mr. Red sink lower and lower into the couch, staring forlornly at her from over the large couch pillow he hugged to himself. The giant child.

"That thing you're doing with your eyes - while devastatingly cute - is not going to help you." She aggressively snatched up a banh mi.

A snicker might have come from Bette's side of the table. Or it could've been a cough. No one would ever know for sure, since the redhead had already schooled her features into a bland expression as she also bit into her own sandwich. Mr. Red continued to pout and bounce his leg incessantly, not having much to do because he wasn't yet allowed to talk and he'd already sped ate through his multiple servings and the flan she had gotten for dessert. He really must've felt bad though, because he actually remembered to leave some for her this time. If he hadn't, she would've marched him to the door to buy some more.

"So." Her female guest had just finished and was now was sitting quiet and attentively, meaning now was as good a time as any for those two to talk. "You have until I am done eating. Fill that time with words."

" _I'mreallyreallysorryMichela_ -"

Making the same halting gesture she had when he'd first shown up, she ordered, "Apologies and groveling later. I need to know why you brought her here."

"It's a long story, but…" He and bomb specialist shared a look before the woman took over.

"It all started when I was shipped home to recuperate after a roadside bomb riddled me with shrapnel…"

As Bette spoke, Michela took care to keep the horror unfurling within her from showing on her face. Though her own experience receiving abilities had not been great, it hadn't been as bad as it had for Mr. Red, who'd admitted to her that he'd been hospitalized and near death after the particle accelerator explosion. His story paled in comparison to this one. The traumatic circumstances that had put the woman on the path of gaining abilities had screwed her over further by leaving her in the hands of people who would experiment on and use her. Even though she had escaped, she was still being hunted. It was like something out of a crappy Hollywood thriller plotline except real and another reminder of why she had never told another soul about herself until now.

"So why come here then?"

"Well," the redhead said, glancing at Mr. Red, "B-"

"Don't-!" Mr. Red exclaimed, making both women jump, "She doesn't know my name, who I am."

The metahuman capable of making things explode narrowed her eyes at the man in the suit.

Taking in the rising tension between the two, Michela spoke, "It's okay, I actually don't want to know."

That had both of their heads snapping to her - Bette's expression questioning and Mr. Red's disbelieving.

"You... don't?" He finally asked.

"No." The superhero looked like he wanted to say more, but she didn't let him. "So you were telling me why you came, Bette."

"He said that you had powers-" The word was spat out like something bitter tasting. "-like us. That we should meet."

Running a hand over her head and mussing her short dark hair, Michela pulled in a long, deep breath for what felt like the twentieth time that night.

"Ignoring the fact that he told you something about me that _only_ he and about three other people should know-" She didn't look at him, even as he squirmed in the periphery of her vision. "-It actually is nice to meet you, in spite of everything." After a moment of consideration, she spoke again. "This is probably going to sound cheesy, but you're not alone. I know what it's like being able to do something that causes more harm than good. Like I told Mr. Red here a while back, if you need someone to talk to, you know how to find me."

"Thank you," Bette said softly, her voice full of emotion.

"You're welcome."

A jaw cracking yawn chose to rip out of Michela then. She cut most of it off with a hand over her mouth as sleepy tears formed at the corners of her eyes. Blinking them away, she refocused her gaze on both of her guests.

"Michela…" the man started, but she shook her head.

"Those apologies need to keep waiting. I'm tired and not exactly ready to accept or refuse them right now. So I'm kicking you both out so I can get some sleep." She caught his gaze as she smothered another yawn. "And whenever you do come back, you better be the one bringing the food."

"I- Yeah, it'll be on me next time," he promised with a nod, his features contrite, but his eyes hopeful, "Goodnight."

Wishing both him and the other woman a goodnight, she pressed the door shut behind them, set every lock, and turned her security system on. She was ready to clean up the mess on coffee table in the living room, but stopped short when she noticed everything was already gone. A peek into the kitchen showed empty takeout containers rinsed out and recycled. Everything else had been put into the fridge. The woman had to fight a smile. Maybe he did have manners, buried deep down under all of that red leather and clumsy demeanor.

After showering and getting ready for bed, she checked her phone for the last time before plugging it in.

- _Thank you for tonight_ -

It was pretty serious when Mr. Red didn't use a lick of chatspeak in his texts when there were plenty of opportunities to do so. She was tempted to just leave it, because he still deserved the cold shoulder after the shit he pulled tonight. However, with a smirk curling her lips, she shook her head and fired a text.

- _Burritos and extra chips and salsa_ -

Before she even turned it off, she got a response back that was just a winky face. Her eye roll lasted her all the way through setting it aside and crawling into bed. As she settled in though, she couldn't stop her mind from committing a certain fact into her memory.

Mr. Red's real name, whatever it was, started with a 'B.'

* * *

Having people with powers drop in for visits must have become the new normal for her, because it was barely even surprising to find Bette sitting against her apartment door, knees pulled to her chest. Michela hadn't expected to be taken up on her offer so quickly, especially not the very next morning, but maybe that was another habit that the other woman had picked up from their mutual friend. They should probably have a talk about how there were better role models to take after than that guy. Whatever she might've said in greeting died in her throat when she took in the fear and hopelessness in her new acquaintance's face. Without a word, she ushered her in and secured the door.

It took leading the woman to the couch, putting a mug of coffee in her hands, and letting her sit with her face downcast and her body trembling for a good fifteen minutes in silence, before she spoke.

"They can't fix me," she finally said, looking up, her bloodshot eyes pooling with tears.

For a moment, Michela panicked as the other woman began to quietly cry beside her on the couch. This was likely a very unusual kind of moment for someone like Bette Sans Souci, to be crying in front of someone who was almost a virtual stranger. An unusual act probably called for an unusual response, so the dark haired woman did something she usually didn't with people she barely knew. (And usually especially wouldn't if she also knew that that person could make things explode with a touch.) Taking the coffee mug and setting it aside, she reached out to place a hand on the redhead's elbow, insisting on keeping it there when the other woman tried to pull away. When Bette stopped struggling, she gently tugged her in, closer and closer, until the woman was practically draped across her lap, arms circling her waist and face pressed into Michela's chest.

Shuddering sobs wracked the bomb specialist's body. Awkwardly, the younger woman smoothed her fingers over her crying guest's head, from scalp to the ends of fiery locks in repetition, hoping that it helped. Also hoping that just touching hair wasn't enough contact to set off spontaneous combustion. Time showed that the weird pseudo-petting was, in fact, both helpful and not life threatening. The sobs tapered off to slower, calmer breathing, only occasionally punctuated by a tiny hitch. Eventually, the redhead pushed away from her, her pale cheeks pinked and gaze fixed on the huge wet spot she'd left on the front of brunette's shirt.

When her lips began to part to say something, Michela quickly stopped her with, "Please don't apologize, you really don't have to. I feel like too many people are apologizing to me these days."

Bette frowned, opened her mouth again, and then closed it with another frown and a huff.

"You seem to like cutting people off a lot."

That got a shrug.

"Not really? Just Mr. Red, for the most part." Her gaze lingered long on the bomb specialist's face and she leaned in a bit to examine it more closely. "What else brought this on? I have this feeling that there's more, but I could be wrong."

Some uncertainty leaked into the other woman's expression at the question.

"No, you're right. It was more than knowing they didn't have a way to fix this," she said, raising her hands palms up and staring hard at them, "It felt like- like they didn't really want me there. And something _he_ said, it didn't sit right with me."

"What did he say?" The dark haired woman asked.

"He said that people like us, they're who I'm supposed to protect now. Protect from General Eiling." The look on her face grew disturbed. "He said I should kill him so he'll never be able to hurt them - us - ever again."

Keeping her emotions off of her face this time was even more difficult. She was likely failing horribly at it. General Eiling sounded like a certifiable terrible human being who should die in a fire. Bette Sans Souci, on the other hand, had from the start struck her as a genuinely good person. A genuinely good person who deserved none of what had happened to her and was left incredibly vulnerable by all of it.

And some sick son of a bitch had tried to exploit that and make her their personal hitwoman.

"Who told you that?"

"Dr. Wells."

Ah. There was only one "Dr. Wells" that came to mind, and thinking of him did not inspire good feelings. And frankly, the feelings were getting a lot less good with this new revelation. If it really was who she was thinking of, that man was responsible for what happened to Bette, to Mr. Red, and to herself, whether it was an honest mistake or not. She'd been content with quietly despising him from afar, and had indulged in sending some cathartic anonymous hate mail his way. But this. The man was clearly not only dangerously incompetent but actually dangerous, even handicapped as he was.

"Do you want to stay here?" Michela blinked, surprised but not upset that her mouth had gotten ahead of her. "You obviously need somewhere to hide out from Eiling and the lab is not a good option." _At all._

"That might put you in harm's way, Michela," the redhead whispered, a battle of hope and hesitance waged in her expression.

"Yeah, but really, you being safe matters to me. Even if it's just to lay low for awhile before you take off somewhere else, you're welcome here. I'll even buy you the bus ticket and travel supplies when the time comes."

"Only for as long as it takes for the search to die down," she insisted.

"And you'll let me know when you leave so I can see off," the younger woman assented with a reassuring nod, "I'll even make Mr. Red come, too."

"Why do you call him that?" The bomb specialist asked, her accompanying chuckle clearing the air of grimness around her.

Michela quirked an eyebrow at her. "I thought it was really obvious why."

The other woman burst into full on laughter.

"Anyway," the dark haired woman went on, standing up and stretching exaggeratedly, "Come with me so I can show you your room."

"Are you sure about this though?" Came the question from behind her as she headed towards the hall where the bedrooms were. "If I have an accident, you might not have an apartment to let me crash at anymore."

"Not to trivialize this, but just try to be careful. Accidents are okay if they're small. It might not look it, but this apartment was specially modified with a lot of things, including soundproofing and the ability to withstand a lot of odd shit happening to it." She could feel Bette's curiosity radiating from behind her. "I am related to some very wealthy, paranoid people, who felt the need to build me a bomb shelter before I went to live on my own." The younger woman paused to throw an apologetic look behind her. "Sorry."

"It was actually kind of funny," the redhead reassured her with a smile.

"Okay." They came to a stop at one of the rooms and swung the door open. "This is usually the room I let my family and a friend-" Her nose scrunched. "-more like an acquaintance - use whenever they stay over. But it's yours for as long as you're here."

Another twenty minutes or so was spent giving a mini tour as well as grabbing her guest some loaner clothes and a toothbrush. Bette's eyes were looking a little misty again by the end of it. Eventually, Michela left her to get settled on her own. She checked her phone, wincing when she saw there were missed calls and texts from her internship demanding an explanation for why she wasn't there. Choosing to ignore those for the moment, she focused on the single text she'd gotten from Mr. Red.

- _Bette's missing_ -

Calling, or even texting, were things she could have done to put his mind at ease. But she thought about what the other woman had told her, what had ultimately driven her away from the place Mr. Red used as his home base. Maybe he trusted those people, and maybe Michela trusted him a lot too, more than she should trust someone she didn't really know. However, that trust did not extend to being comfortable letting the woman she had taken into her care near those people. She wouldn't risk telling him now, only for him to let slip where their friend was hiding out to them. So she only sent one thing.

- _Keep me updated_ -

Putting her phone away, she put a hand over her eyes, massaging the area tiredly. He was going to find out eventually, and then it would be _her_ turn to be the one apologizing. Hopefully, he'd at least give her the chance to talk him out of running back to Harrison Wells with the truth.

* * *

 **AN:** A little late for my hope to post once every week, but let's hope I can get back on track. Also, this chapter kind of messes with the timeline of events in the episode (S1E5 "Plastique") that it covers, but hopefully that doesn't bother anyone too much. This is also the beginning of things diverging from the show canon. (Woo!)

To end this, I'd like to recommend some fics: "The Oncoming Storm" by disneylover3212008 (CSI OC who takes advantage of the temporary job opening while Barry is in a coma) and "Time and Time Again" by whatthehaleisgoingon (metahuman male!OC with control of time perception).


	4. Chapter 4: You've Got a Friend

**Chapter 4:** You've Got a Friend

* * *

A bowl of oatmeal with fresh fruit cut up into it and a glass of orange juice were placed in front her. Her temporary roommate smiled over at her and from where she sat down with her own almost identical breakfast. They ate in peaceful silence like the last couple mornings, Michela reading an article on social work on her phone while the other woman watched the news. When it was time for the younger woman to head to her internship, the older handed her a packed lunch and her water bottle filled with cucumber slices in it.

"Are you sure you don't want to be my wife forever?" The dark haired woman grinned while the other rolled her eyes. "I'm kind of loaded, so I could totally take care of you."

"Your proposals get worse each time," the redhead deadpanned.

"You said no to yesterday's proposal. I have no more stops I can pull with you."

"Because kneeling with an onion ring is the height of classy, huh?"

"Classy as it gets."

"Get going," Bette ordered, shaking her head and nudging her out the door.

"Fine then. See you when I'm home!" she said with a wave, getting one in return as the door shut behind her

It didn't take long to walk to the train station. As she settled in for the ride to Central City, she couldn't help but pull out her phone and look over her latest texting history.

- _No news_ -

The same text came like clockwork every night since Bette had "gone missing." The only other message she got was

- _Have you seen her?-_

And all she could respond with was

- _Tell you if I do_ -

The seeing part? Check. The telling part? Pending. That wasn't going to change until Mr. Red came in person. Which, annoyingly, hadn't happened for longer than what had become the norm for him. Maybe he was still worried she was mad. Maybe he was worried she blamed him for Bette's disappearance. There were probably other maybes, but the point was that he seemed to be avoiding stopping by. It had been almost a week and she was getting to the point where she may have to woman up first and invite him for the reveal. She just really hated it when she had to be the mature and responsible person. Especially when it didn't even work in her favor.

Making a face to herself, she hit the call button and put the phone to her ear.

" _Michela?"_ came soft and tentatively from the other side of the line.

"Hey Mr. Red!" she greeted back with false cheeriness, which seemed to unsettle him if the dead silence that followed was any indication, "Any reason I haven't seen you around in a while?"

" _Oh, uh, yeah, things have just been a little hectic lately and um…"_ The sheepishness in his tone was familiar, but how subdued he sounded was not. " _Sorry."_

"Again with the apologies. Remember that those are supposed to be on hold until you bring burritos?"

If she was the kind of person who did that kind of thing, she would've pumped a fist at the chuckle she'd succeeded in dragging out of him. (So maybe she made a fist with her hand and shook it next to her thigh, but no one saw it, so it never happened.)

" _I remember, sor- yeah."_

"No pressure," she started, her voice a mixture of earnestness and forced casualness, "But come by sometime, yeah?"

" _Yeah, that actually sounds... great."_

What was with that lost, wistful note she was hearing? What the hell kind of week was the guy having?

"Good, because I have had this craving for too long and you need to get with the program and deliver. Literally."

His chuckle sounded again.

" _You're using that word wrong."_

"Don't be a smartass Mr. Red." She tried to inject irritation into her voice, but she could hear her smile in it and bet he could, too. "Just warn me about an hour before whenever you drop by. You can do that, right?"

" _I can try."_ There was suddenly far off yelling on the other side of the phone, and a clatter signalling it had been dropped and then picked back up. " _Uh, hey, so I have to go. But, thanks, for calling."_

"Sure. Go do whatever it is you do during the daytime. See you soon."

" _Yeah, same to you. See you when I can."_

He hung up and she quickly shut her phone off and tucked it into the pocket of her messenger bag. She turned her attention to the fast approaching skyline of Central City. Another day of paperwork, coffee orders, and maybe a tease at the opportunity of an observation session.

And the night? Hopefully just a quiet dinner in with Bette. But the thing about nights now was that they didn't exactly keep to a routine anymore.

* * *

Something really must've been up with Mr. Red, because after a week of nothing, just one phone call had him chomping at the bit to come over that very night. Like a switch was flipped, he was sending texts asking her about her day and what filling preferences she had for burritos. She only just remembered to ask her roommate for her preferences as well, considering it would be rude not to make sure she got a special burrito of her own, too. And of course, to let her know that their speedster friend was going to be popping in that night so they could plan out exactly what they would be telling him.

Her phone buzzing double time drew some unwanted attention at the care services agency. More than once, she caught Doreen the secretary trying to look over her shoulder at her phone under the guise of giving her documents to scan or shred. Or Morgan, one of the more irritable social workers, shooting her dirty looks. As it was, she ignored both of them, just trying to get through each of her tasks one at a time and keep up with both conversations. It was a relief when Linda, her supervisor, dismissed her for the day. The woman gave her a stern look as she left, likely a reminder to not bring work home with her. Too late though, there were already files she planned to review tucked into her bag, and they made for interesting reading material on the train ride home.

Bette greeted her at the door when she got there, freshly showered after what was likely one of her insane workout sessions. It seemed that she was just as keyed up about Mr. Red coming. Though it was the redhead's secret, and Michela wanted to respect that, she didn't completely agree with the decision to opt against telling him about what she and Dr. Wells had talked about. Or more specifically, about him telling her to kill General Eiling. When someone had a mentor with morals that out of whack, you _should_ warn them so they didn't get caught alone in a dark hallway with the psycho or something.

But the other woman insisted that those people seemed like they were trying to help Mr. Red and they were the only ones who really could. It would be a bad idea to alienate him from them. For now at least. If Harrison Wells or anyone else at that place acted out of line again, Michela was telling the superhero whether her roommate insisted against it or not.

They were both sitting on the couch, half-heartedly watching something on Netflix to pass the hour long wait, when the second warning text came in and the dark haired woman was on her feet and opening the door. Like usual, she kept her eyes shut until she felt him whiz past her into the apartment. There was the regular whoosh of wind, but this time, there was also a shout of surprise coming from livingroom. Sounded like he'd found Bette.

The sight she found when she arrived there was a nice one. Heaps of Mexican food on her coffee table, and Mr. Red tightly embracing her roommate and the woman returning it fiercely.

"You're okay," the superhero said, pulling away but keeping his hands on either of the bomb specialist's shoulders as he looked her over, "We were so worried, we thought- we thought Eiling might have gotten you."

"No, no, I'm all right," she reassured him, placing her hands carefully on his forearms and squeezing, "I've been hiding out here."

"You've been hiding out… here?" His hands slipped off her shoulders and his gaze moved to Michela, and she could sense the impending outburst in the narrowing of his eyes and the pinching of his lips. "How long?"

"The entire time," the dark haired woman answered getting closer until she was standing only a couple feet from both of them, inclining her head up at him.

"You mean that this entire time we've been searching for Bette-" His voice was picking up volume and a hint of growl she would be impressed with if it wasn't directed at her. "-worrying about whether she was okay, whether she had been captured, she's been here, safe, and you could've told us?"

"Yes."

"Why?" he demanded, fully facing her, hurt more than anger clear in both his expression and voice, "At any time this last week, you could have told me she was here. Why didn't you?"

Both she and the redhead glanced each other, and after sharing a nod, the older woman took over.

"Because I asked her not to." It was Bette's turn to have The Look of Utter Betrayal turned on her. "B- Mr. Red." She grimaced at Michela before continuing. "I didn't want you to worry, but I also didn't want the people at STAR Labs to know where I was."

"Why?" he echoed his question from earlier.

"Because I didn't feel welcome there. And more importantly, I didn't feel safe there either."

"But-!" he began to exclaim.

"General Eiling almost found me there once. He could've done it again, and it could've put all of you at risk."

"I would've protected you," the speedster swore.

"I think I can handle myself well enough. But I couldn't have asked you to give up that much time just to babysit me on the off chance I couldn't."

"Then how come we couldn't know you were safe? Where you were?" His eyes darted to the dark haired woman and then back to her. "Couldn't we have at least known that?"

"Same reason, at least for the others if not for you," she explained easily, "It's safer for them if they don't know where I am or what I'm up to. That way, he wouldn't be able to force them to give me up, if it came to that."

There was a set to his jaw for a second that didn't look promising, but it quickly smoothed out into what looked like resignation on his masked features.

"I really hate keeping secrets for people's safety," Mr. Red finally said with a scowl.

"You're the one who decided to be a superhero buddy." Michela reached out and lightly punched him on the arm. "What did you expect you were going to be doing?"

"Saving people, stopping bad guys," he replied with a helpless shrug.

"It's like you've never read a single comic book or even watched a movie adaptation." She shook her head, internally relaxing at the signs of him coming down from his snit. "Not that I do much of either of those things, but even _I_ know that secret keeping is par for the course for superheroes, just as much as the other things are."

"I know, but-"

"But it's burrito time," she interrupted him, herding both him and their companion towards the couch, "Because food trumps secrets and arguments and complaints."

"I don't know if I agree with you on that," he protested.

"Your stomach seems to, though," Bette observed lightly, fighting a laugh at his expense and failing.

"For real?" He shot a less intense version of The Look of Utter Betrayal at the bomb specialist. "Staying with Michela's been a terrible influence on you."

"Excuse you, but I am fantastic company, and I bring joy and enlightenment to all who behold me," the dark haired woman asserted airly, plopping onto the couch and rifling through the burrito bag.

Both Bette and Mr. Red snorted as one.

"Oh, screw you both. These burritos are mine and I don't have to share."

Between one blink and the next, both the superhero and the bomb specialist were seated across from her with burritos of their own.

"You were saying?" the man in red asked around a large, half masticated bite of food.

"That your manners are as wonderful as always. Chew, swallow, then talk," she muttered at him, as she went back to digging through the bag, "You better have gotten me those chips and salsa."

For the next couple hours, her apartment was full with the sounds of eating, witticisms, and laughter.

* * *

Bette turned in early, her workout from earlier having been more intense than Michela had realized, though her enormous appetite should have been a clue. Still, she had nothing on their masked friend who had spared no burrito or chip left untouched by the women. Before she went, she got another hug from the superhero, as well as extracted a promise from him that he wouldn't tell the others at STAR Labs about where she was. With the other woman retired for the night, that left just her and Mr. Red together on the couch. She laid across it with her head in his lap and his hands gently massaging her scalp, something she'd demanded as interest for the apology he'd taken so long to give her.

"So what's got you down?" she questioned, her voice reflecting her blissed out state as she prodded at his knee, "You've seemed kind of sad."

"Ah." The fingers in her hair stilled. "It kind of has to do with the secret keeping stuff."

"Keeping secrets from someone you care about?" she yawned as the fingers twitched, "Just an educated guess."

"Yeah, I've been keeping secrets from someone I really care about." His fingers resumed what they had been doing before. "It's why we're not talking right now."

"Sorry to hear," she told him, "Can't say I know what it's like to fall out with a friend like that, but it sounds like it sucks if you're this torn up about it."

"That just means you're probably a good friend who doesn't keep awful secrets like I do," he tried to joke, but it sounded far from how it was meant to.

"I think you've got the wrong idea about me Mr. Red," she said, swallowing harshly, "Not to make this a sob story about me now, but I don't have any good friends. I don't go out of my way to make them. I have secrets too, more than just what you already know about me, and having good friends means having people I would have to tell those secrets to, want to tell them to. And I don't want that to happen. So no good friends to keep secrets from. Therefore, no fall outs."

"That sounds kind of lonely," he murmured after a beat, the strokes of his fingers on her scalp even gentler than before.

"It's not for everyone."

"But is it for you?" he pressed.

"It's gotten me this far." Michela sighed shakily. "This is such a bummer of a conversation. Sorry I started it."

"I'm not." She turned her head to look up at him. "Despite what you think, you're actually proving to be a really good friend, so far. To me. To Bette. What I'm going through with my friend sucks, but it's just as bad that you think you can't be a good friend, or have good friends. So I'm glad that we talked about this. Because now I think I need to prove to you that you can."

Her body couldn't really figure out how to respond to that. She felt like she was on the verge of a migraine like usual, but at the same time, there was this warmth overtaking every part of her. This was stupid, just Mr. Red saying silly, overly optimistic things like he always did. It didn't warrant this reaction. All she should have done was shrug this mushy crap off like usual and laugh at him. But she couldn't. Not now. Maybe later, but not now.

All she could do was turn her head away and rest her hand on his knee. That and pretend she wasn't sickeningly grateful that he understood what she wanted and took her hand to hold in his own.

* * *

 **AN:** I totally blew off homework I should've been doing to write this, but this chapter just really wanted to be written. I have to say, I goddamn love writing this story. It feels so natural. This chapter occurs in the space between S1E5 and S1E6 ("The Flash is Born"). Hopefully, we'll move a little more quickly through the canon episodes, there's some stuff in later episodes I _really_ want to get to. For now, I leave you with an interesting observation: Most of this story has occurred in Keystone so far, not Central City.

(Also, any recommendations for good Flash or any OC stories?)


	5. Chapter 5: Wants and Shoulds

**Chapter 5:** Wants and Shoulds

* * *

Sometimes, Bette made things explode.

Tonight made it two incidents so far - the casualties having been a door knob the first time and a pillow this time. Well, maybe more than just the pillow in this instance, now that she surveyed the damage in the room. There were feathers everywhere and the bed had an enormous, blackened crater in. The nightstand that had been standing next to the bed looked like it had seen better days, too. It was singed, and the lamp that had sat on top of it seemed to have been blown into the wall and had shattered on impact. Michela jumped when she heard the closet door creak open, and turned to see her roommate shuffle out of it.

The other woman's hair was messy, whether from sleep or the blast, she didn't know. Her eyes were red and bloodshot, and her face was whiter than its already natural pale, except for sooty smudges here and there. All in all, she looked pretty wild and spooked.

"Are you okay Bette?" she asked in her softest voice, though she didn't get closer.

That had been one of the redhead's rules. If the bomb specialist was in a volatile state, no one was allowed to get close - let alone touch her - for their own safety. As much as she wanted to soothe her, the other woman followed that rule. She understood it. Nothing would hurt her roommate more than for Bette to hurt her, even on accident. So she stayed where she was and waited.

"I'm sorry," the redhead said finally.

"I know."

"I should leave."

"You don't have to," the brunette insisted quiet but firmly, having to step back and sit on the smoking bed to stop from lurching forward.

"But I should."

There was panic creeping into Bette's expression.

"Don't make this about shoulds." Her hands fisted in her sleep shorts. "Do you want to go?"

"If I stay, I'll just keep making things explode... and I could hurt you."

" _Don't_ make this about me," Michela bit out, "I asked you, do you want to go?"

"No," she finally answered.

"Then stay. You can leave whenever you want to, but you have to want to." The dark haired woman stood, desperately wanting to touch her but continuing to refrain as she went to the door. "I'm going to go to back to sleep. We'll talk getting your room fixed in the morning, over breakfast. Pancakes. And bacon if you're feeling that bad."

There was a long bout of silence before she heard a wet huff.

"You just don't stop, do you?"

"Why should I when there is so much unnecessary guilt for me to take advantage of?" The joking edge faded as she looked over her shoulder. "You can use the other guest room tonight."

"Okay." The bomb specialist rewarded her with a wobbly smile. "See you in the morning."

"See you in the morning," she echoed back and started towards her room, the breath she had been holding finally eased out of her.

* * *

When Mr. Red sent her a photo of his entire arm in some sort of brace accompanied only by the message _-Rouhg day wrk-_ the next night, she had to hand her cell phone over to Bette and put a hand over her eyes. She could hear the other woman swear quietly under her breath.

"Please say something nice or comforting to him," Michela requested, letting her body slump forward so she could rest her forehead against the tabletop they were sitting at, "He's probably in a lot of pain and doesn't need me to chew him out for being a dumbass."

"Uh-huh," the redhead responded, the accompanying sound that of phone keys being tapped.

"What an idiot," the woman muttered, trying to press her face more firmly against the wooden surface.

.

The next day, a picture of Bette in workout clothes pulling on the hand wraps Michela had just bought the other woman came in while she was out to lunch with her aunt, who was passing through on business and stopped for a visit. She almost choked on the sip of soda she'd taken right at that moment. Just as she shot an apologetic look at her aunt and went to ask what the hell was going on, she got another text.

 _-Meet my new personal trainer-_

It was hard to say whether she was irritated or happy for both of them. The bomb specialist had been starting to get really bored the last couple days, if the intensity of her work outs and the extravagant and complex new recipes she had been trying were any indication. Seriously, the dark haired woman was getting fat at the same rate the redhead was getting trim and built. So if helping get Mr. Red fighting fit would give the other woman something to do, that was good. But.

 _-Tell Bette she looks cool-  
_ _-Also, since when were you invited while I'm not home?-_

 _-Um-_

 _-Clear it with me first next time-_

 _-Roger that-_

came through, followed by a picture he'd taken of Bette making a pouty, remorseful face.

Michela had to shake her head at that. And Mr. Red thought _she_ was teaching the redhead bad habits. Her aunt took a peek at her phone's screen.

"Girlfriend?" she asked, her lips curled into a mischievous smirk.

"Roommate," the the younger woman corrected, "She's going to beat the crap out of our friend."

"Since when did you have a roommate?" her aunt inquired, leaning in closer, "You hate sharing space with other people. Every time we visit, you're itching to shove us right back out the door."

"That's because all of you are nosy and annoying. She's- um." How to explain this? "I'm trying to help her out. She's not in a very good place right now."

"Is she from that place you're working at?"

"No," she answered, shaking her head, "Just someone I met who really needed help getting away from someone bad."

There was righteous fury and sympathy in her aunt's eyes.

"Anything your uncle and I can help out with?"

"I don't think we need anything right now," Michela told her with a small smile, "But I appreciate the offer, and I might take you up on it if things change."

"You're a good kid, Mickey." Her aunt slid to her side of the booth and bumped shoulders with her. "I still don't know how you turned out the way you did, your dad being the shithead he is."

"He's not that bad," the younger defended weakly.

" _Sure_. Enough about him, though." The other woman grinned. "Tell me about this vigilante running around Central. _The Scarlet Streak_."

"Could I not?" Michela groaned, getting giggles in response, "I talk enough about that guy as it is."

* * *

It was another night when just as the women were getting ready for bed, Michela got a call. The number wasn't familiar, but she decided to just take it. She'd just started volunteering at the women's center in Keystone, and she'd put her name down to be on call this week to come if they needed some extra hands to help in case of an emergency. The call could've been from there, which could explain not knowing who was calling her.

Of course, her guess ended up far from the mark.

"Hello, who is this?"

" _Michela?_ "

"Mr. Red?" she said, blinking in shock.

In her periphery, she could see her roommate sit up and focus on her conversation.

" _I'm so sorry for calling like this, I just- I need help and I just called you, and you can say no._ "

"What happened?" she asked, all traces of exhaustion and confusion gone.

" _I had a fight with a metahuman_ ," he started, his wrecked voice putting her on edge, " _He had the ability to control electricity. He hit me and- and-_ "

"Are you hurt?" The other woman tensed when she asked that question.

" _No, at least, not bad, I just…_ "

"Just tell me what's wrong," she demanded.

" _He took my powers,_ " the man finally admitted, " _I can't use my speed. I'm stranded._ "

"You're hurt, stranded, and you lost your powers," she summarized aloud for the bomb specialist, before speaking again, "Where are you?"

" _Near the power plant in Petersburg_ ," he answered, " _Northern Central City. I know it's late, and I'm sorry to ask but-_ "

"Always with the apologies," she mumbled wedging her cell phone between her ear and her shoulder as she went to pull on a sweater and look for her car keys, "Give me an exact address and I can probably be there in half an hour."

" _Michela, thank you, I-_ "

"Address," the woman pressed, weariness filtering back into her tone.

After he rattled off the first clear address he came across, she told him to stay where he was and call back if anything else happened, then hung up. Just as she plugged the address he'd given her into her phone's map app, she looked up to see Bette pulling on her gloves.

"I'm coming with you," the redhead insisted.

That got a tired smile out of the brunette.

"I wasn't going to ask, but I'm glad you offered."

.

The car ride was spent in anxious silence, the dark haired woman white knuckle gripping the steering wheel while the redhead kept her hands fisted in her lap and her eyes staring out into the darkness ahead. Traffic had been practically nonexistent and they'd been going so fast they got there ten minutes sooner than the phone app had predicted they would. If not for the reason they were out, it might've been the best car trip she'd made out to Central City the entire time she'd lived in Keystone. Mr. Red was waiting for them just out of sight, but walked into the open as they approached, lifting his arm to block out the light of the car's high beams. It wasn't until they both saw him that the tension they'd each been carrying seemed to drain out of both of them.

Bette was the first out of the car, striding quickly over to examine him. Michela put the car into park and stepped out but hung back, watching over the two and keep an eye out just in case. A quiet conversation passed between the incapacitated superhero and her roommate before they turned to her and the car. They wore grim looks as they approached the car, the redhead sliding back into the passenger seat while the man in the red suit got in behind her. The brunette got back in as well, taking the car out of park but keeping her foot on the brake.

"Where to?"

"STAR Labs," the man in the back told her.

Even though she would have rather gone anywhere else, she nodded and started the car. She'd guessed that was where they'd need to drop him off, but going anywhere near that place knowing what it had caused and _who_ was there unsettled something in her gut.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just trying to wrap my head around - this," he answered, sounding very small from behind her.

And for once, her smart comment - something about how his status as a member of their little powers club had been revoked - died on her tongue. Maybe it was a little ironically funny to her, but that was because she was an asshole with a sense of humor to match her disposition. Judging by how he sounded, it was too soon to make light of this. So she turned on the radio instead and let Sam Smith's soulful tenor filter in on low.

They arrived at STAR Labs in less than half the time it took to get from her apartment to Petersburg. Michela eyed the ruined monument to science with disdain as they pulled up, parking her car a couple spaces away from the only other vehicles in the lot. All three of them got out of the car at once, but while the dark haired woman stayed near her car, the redhead moved to stand beside Mr. Red when he prepared to head in.

"Bette?" she implored softly, already sensing what was about to happen.

"I just want to know more about what happened to make him lose his powers," the woman swore, raising her hands in a gesture that was meant to be reassuring, "I'll come back when I can."

The desperation and hope in her eyes halted any scathing, fearful words Michela might have let loose. Because she knew, should've known when she'd mentioned Mr. Red had lost his powers, that it would ignite hope in the other woman again. Even if the possibility of a cure was low in comparison to the cost of exposing herself to a man who had already treated her like someone - something - expendable once. But damn if she didn't understand the lure of that possibility, and her ability wasn't nearly as bad. Looking to their other friend, she noted that he seemed uncomfortable. Impatient, she corrected herself, as he kept darting glances to the building behind them but not saying anything.

"Stay safe," the dark haired woman finally forced herself to say as she shared a significant look with the bomb specialist. She then turned her attention to the man, "Both of you."

"We'll try," he promised.

Michela snorted.

"I'd quote Star Wars about what I think about that answer since I know you are secretly a nerd. But knowing both of you, trying is the best I'm gonna get, I think."

For the first time that night, Mr. Red smiled and nodded. Bette moved in quickly and hugged her almost too tight, barely giving her enough to return it before pulling away.

"Get home safe. I'll keep you updated," the redhead said.

And with that, the brunette walked back to her car. As she started it up and began to drive away, she watched the two of them walk in together in the rearview mirror. The bad feeling she'd been grappling with since Mr. Red had first called only grew worse.

Michela refused to ask herself why it felt like she'd never see them again.

* * *

 **AN:** This chapter takes place during S1E6 and into the events of S1E7 ("Blackout"). I did more research for this chapter than I needed to. Why was it pressing to know the geographical layout of Kansas/Keystone and Missouri/Central City? Or that Sam Smith was a tenor? Or what songs were popular in 2014? (although that helped me put together a fab music playlist for this story) Some timeline continuity issues to address: by S1E7, only a month had passed since Barry's nine month coma, wth? Ugh, let's just pretend that the passage of time I have been portraying (which has been more of a week elapsed for every episode) is correct.

Below are some bonus text conversations that started out as scenes that got cut because they didn't fit, but were too good to not keep in some capacity.

* * *

Bonus Text Convos:

[After the broken arm pic text]

Her exasperation didn't stop her from asking the next morning if he was okay. He shot back a picture of his arm, looking fine for the most part and posed in a flex.

 _-Nu u cared-_

With narrowed eyes and pursed lips, she shot back

 _-As if I was worried about you and your bird arms-_

 _-Mean-_

 _-Truth hurts buddy-_

.

[After Barry finds out the "metahuman of the week" in S1E6 is Tony Woodward]

 _-U ever bullied?-_

Well, that was very apropos of nothing. Though that was pretty standard of Mr. Red.

 _-No. Why?-_

 _-Reunion w/ an old bully-_

 _-Still a dick?-_

 _-still a dick-_

 _._

[After S1E6]

 _-Congrats on the rebranding-_

 _-Thx!-  
-I heart it-  
-The flash-  
-No more scarlet streak-  
-Do u like?-_

 _-Better than Scarlet Streak, I guess-  
_

 _-Guess?-  
_

 _-Well-_

 _-Omg, u dont like it-  
-How could u not like it?-_

 _-No I do, just-_

 _-JUST?-_

 _-Just what is it with you and names that make it sound like public indecency is your superpower?-_

 _-...-  
-Wat-  
-No-  
-NO-_


	6. Chapter 6: Shepherd and Sheepdog

**Chapter Six:** Shepherd and Sheepdog

* * *

She'd spent most of the night once she got home not sleeping with the chorus from 'Fancy' playing on repeat in her head, courtesy of her car radio. The chorus loop was in the hundreds count by the time her alarm for the day went off at 6:00 am. Michela had briefly contemplated the point of going to her internship, then got up to turn off her alarm and call out sick. If she went in today, she'd probably end up dumping Morgan's unnecessarily complicated coffee order straight onto her lap. Even if Linda disliked the other woman too, there was no way she wouldn't be dismissed for that.

By the time 8:00 am rolled around and that godforsaken chorus had taken its thousandth victory lap around her brain, she realized she had to get up and do _something_ , if not her internship. That's what led her to dragging herself once more out of bed and, instead of heading to the train station, getting into her car and driving to the women's center.

Even sleep deprived, she felt energized working there, whether it was in donations, the learning center, or even just in the kitchen. It might've had something to do with how she was surrounded by other people who seemed to genuinely gave a damn about who they were helping. If she had a moment, she sat in on some of the workshops so she could see the actual employees conduct them.

Jinna, one of the program coordinators, had just finished a housing resources workshop, and now Francine was setting up her group meeting for women and teens struggling with addiction. Michela waved at the both women on her way out. Group meetings were more private, so volunteers were discouraged to join unless invited. She hoped Francine or anyone of the other group facilitators would invite her to sit in sometime group meetings seemed even more interesting than observations at her internship some days.

It was a little disconcerting how she went from signing out at the center to suddenly turning her key in the door of her apartment. For a second, she wondered if it Mr. Red's influence, but the clock in the hallway said instead that she had lost time and not been flashed there.

Her mind sharply reminded her then that he couldn't do that right now. And that she shouldn't be thinking of him. Or Bette. Or how neither had called or texted at all. And that she should maybe - finally - go the hell to sleep.

Those were all solid pieces of advice. Nodding to herself, she dropped her bag in the hall, kicked off her shoes, and forwent her bed, instead flopping onto the couch. The minute she stopped fussing and settled in, she was out.

.

The first time it happened, she jolted awake wondering why the hell she had woken up and what the hell was she doing on the couch?

Blinking blearily around at her dark living room, she was ready to just accept life's mysteries and shut her eyes again, when she heard a heavy thud sound from down the hall. This time, her eyes flew open and her body went rigid as she waited.

There. After a full minute, another thud came from the same direction, the front door.

Slow and quiet, she pulled herself up from the couch and crept down the hall. She stopped only to reach into her purse on the way and pull out her phone and the taser her aunt had talked her into keeping on her.

Once at the door, through the peephole she saw a large man braced against the wall to the side of her door. He was hunched in on himself, and the longer she looked, the more she suspected he was seriously injured. She felt bad, she really did. But the guy had woken her up in the middle of the night and almost given her a heart attack in the process. Also, she was currently without her tougher, badass roommate to defend her in case the bear of a man was actually a psycho and decided to assault her if she did the nice thing and let him. Just as she prepared to back off and put in a call to either the paramedics - or possibly even KCPD - he raised his fist and let it thunk against her door again.

Even if she was still stupid tired, she wasn't imagining the way his skin fluctuated between pale flesh tone and silvery metallic as it hit her door.

"What-!" she let slip before she could slap a hand over her mouth.

Not that that helped her when the taser went tumbling out of that hand, hitting the door with a damning crack before falling to the floor. His head shot up, and then he was pressing his face up to the peephole and knocking urgently against the door.

"Hey," he said hoarsely and barely audible through the soundproofing, "H-Hey, I need some help. She said I should come here. You gotta help me."

She froze then swore to herself as the words sunk in. If he meant what she thought he did, they were in the doghouse. They were in the doghouse _forever_.

"Tell me who sent you first," she demanded - loudly - through the door.

"The woman who made things explode," was the response she got, which had her swearing again.

"Better get me a goddamn edible arrangement, goddammit," she muttered, undoing each lock and yanking the door open, watching dispassionately as the hulking man stumbled in, "Please, come in, make yourself comfortable, bleed on my furniture, mi apartamento es su apartamento."

"Wha-?" he stared at her, dazed and teetering a bit on his feet as she went to shut the door.

"Just." She look a long calming breath, and then placed a tentative hand on his back and started steering him towards the bathroom when he didn't resist. "Let's get you sat down somewhere so I can take a look at you. Can you tell me your name?"

"It's uh- it's Tony…" he answered with some effort.

"Well, Tony No-Last-Name-Needed, I'm having a shit night, but it looks like yours has been worse." She slowly lowered him to sit on the edge of the bathtub and flicked on the light. "Can you tell or show me where you're hurt?"

Not that it was hard to tell where, because his chest was covered in what looked like - electrical burns, what the hell? This guy was lucky she had a whole lot of experience treating burns of all kinds. Well, as lucky as a guy covered in electric burns could be. She washed her hands and cut away his shirt, wincing when she got a better look. Sighing, she got to work cleaning him up, drying him off, applying antibiotic, and finally bandaging his wounds. By the time she was done, he was sweating heavily, likely in agony after all of that.

"I'm guessing I can't talk you into going to the hospital for better treatment, huh, Tony?"

He was still aware enough to shake his head no.

"Then this is all that I can do for you," she lied, before moving forwards with one outstretched arm, "Now c'mon big guy, up."

Up was difficult. He was heavy, and she didn't quite have the upper body strength necessary to move him with ease. As gently as she could manage, Michela helped the man who was practically draped over her hobble to the livingroom and so she could deposit him onto the couch. Another mental thank you was sent out to her uncle, who was responsible for her couch being large enough to comfortably hold someone with the kind of frame her guest had. She backed away, taking in the sweat that continued to pour off him. His eyes were squeezed tight, his body tensed, his teeth grit harshly against each other.

After a full minute of watching that, she went back to the kitchen and grabbed a couple glasses and filled them with water before dropping them off in the room with him. And then she went back to the bathroom and grabbed a bottle of painkiller. Once back in the livingroom with him, she opened the bottle and shook out a couple pills into her palm. Glancing at the injured man again, she shook out one more, then capped the bottle and set it aside.

"Do me a favor, Tony," she told the man, not even bothering to check if he was paying attention as she grabbed one of the glasses of water, "Don't die in your sleep. It'll be really hard to explain."

With those final words, she threw back the pills and downed the entire glass of water. Setting the empty glass down next to the full one, she then leaned in over him and put her hand on his forehead.

Once she found what she was looking for, she tugged.

* * *

Her chest was on fire. Michela hadn't felt pain like this in a while. Why - How the hell had she done this to herself? Someone was also yelling her name, hands on her face and shaking it from side to side.

"Stop that," she groaned, keeping her eyes shut, "S'annoying."

Hearing her name again, and loudly at that, she finally forced her eyes open and got a face full of Bette.

"Michela-" she breathed out, her expression stark with relief.

"When'd you get home?" The dark haired woman shook her head. "Actually, I don't care, I'm just glad you're back. I feel like crap. Can you marry me so that you have to take care of me in sickness and in health?"

What sounded like choking came somewhere from behind the redhead.

"I'd take care of you anyway, you ridiculous woman." Her tone was exasperated, but her eyes shone with concern. "Are you okay? What happened?"

With a miserable wheeze, Michela sat up and took in the situation. It was daylight, Bette was home, and there was a man sitting on her couch who wasn't Mr. Red. The sight of him jogged her memory though. All the events of last night came back to remind her what had happened.

"I took his pain," the brunette answered, glancing at the injured man, "It must've been too much, 'cause I think I passed out."

"You took my what?" the guy - he definitely had told her his name last night Teddy? Toby? _Tony!_ \- asked.

"Your pain, I took it," she responded, rubbing idly at her chest with a grimace, "You seemed like you needed it. Also, I underestimated just how hurt you were. Really, how the hell were you able to get here from wherever you came from?"

"I could handle it," he insisted crossing his arms, only to put them back down when he jostled his injuries.

"You could have died," she snorted, and then looked to Bette, "Something bad happen at STAR Labs?"

"If some lightning freak trying to kill everyone is bad, then yeah," the man answered for the bomb specialist, drawing a glare from the woman.

"Wait, the same metahuman who took Mr. Red's powers? He attacked STAR Labs?" Cold settled in Michela's stomach as she thought back to how her guest was injured. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine," the redhead informed her, putting a calming hand on her shoulder before gesturing at herself and the man on the couch, "We were able to keep him and the rest of the people at the lab safe enough until they were able to restore his powers."

The icy feeling that had been swirling in her gut abated at those words.

"Were they able to figure out how he took Mr. Red's powers?" the brunette asked, carefully watching the other woman's expression.

"They assumed it was because their powers were both electrically based." The redhead's face was blank. "It doesn't matter now. They'll never be able to find out more because he's dead."

The brunette blinked. The electricity controlling metahuman had been killed? This was apparently news to the injured man as well.

"You got the bastard?" he demanded, sitting forward with intent, which caused a frown to pull at the bomb specialist's lips.

"Farooq Gibran. And he got himself in the end."

That got a shake of the head from Tony.

"Should've killed him myself."

"He shouldn't have died at all," Bette bit out, looking down and away, "Farooq was like us, and he was suffering."

"Like 'us,'" he snorted derisively, "Doesn't mean he didn't try to kill us."

"And from what I've heard, you tried to kill the Flash," the bomb specialist snapped, "You think he should've tried to kill you back for that?"

"If he was man enough, maybe he should have." His large hands balled up into tight fist on his knees as he glared back at her. "Better I go down fighting than getting put back in his prison."

"Okay!" Michela said loudly and with force, putting a hand on either side of her face and letting them drag slowly up into her hair then drop back down, "I'm not awake or medicated enough this conversation. I'm going to go do something about that, and then we're going to pick back up with why Big Guy here tried to kill Mr. Red and why in the hell he thinks Mr. Red has a _prison_."

And then she laboriously pushed herself to her feet, snatched up the still untouched glass of water and the bottle of pills left on the coffee table, and made for the bathroom.

.

"So you're the guy who beat him up last week, huh?" the brunette asked later, holding a mug of coffee with the rim resting on her chin, her damp hair wrapped in a towel.

The moron had the gall to laugh and preen. That and keep leering at her bared legs, folded beneath her where she had settled into the armchair across from the couch. It was really making her regret putting on comfy shorts after her shower, but she wasn't going to let him know he was making her uncomfortable in her own damn apartment. For what was already the third time now, Bette kicked at his shin from her side of the couch.

"I'm assuming that's a yes. Well, I'm telling you now, any further attempts on Mr. Red's life won't be tolerated."

"Yeah?" he sneered at her, "And what's gonna stop me?"

"The person sitting on that couch with you," Michela answered, pulling in a coffee scented intake of air through her nose, "And she'd kick your ass with or without her powers, I assure you."

It had to be a testament to her roommate's badassness that hypermasculine douchebro Tony actually looked a little wary at that threat. She must have been something to see when things went to crap over at STAR Labs. It also didn't hurt that bomb specialist's "done with your shit" face was in full effect.

"Not interested in messing with that coward again, anyway," he finally grunted after a beat, "I just got out being trapped in that hellhole. I'd rather not go back."

"You need to explain that for me," the brunette pushed, leaning forward, "Because I am kind of uncomfortable with the idea of Mr. Red having some kind of metahuman prison."

When Bette shifted nervously, Michela's attention was drawn to her. After some careful searching, she had to take a long, fortifying sip of coffee in the face of her revelation.

"Of course you already knew about a shady, likely illegal prison being run by scientists and an absent minded superhero," she stated flatly.

"It seemed necessary, all things considered," the redhead defended without any feeling, "Iron Heights can't hold people like us."

"Jesus," the brunette huffed, palming her face for a long minute then glancing at the other person on the couch through her fingers, "Were they even treating you right? Giving you enough food? Did they offer any recreational or educational opportunities? Christ, they're scientists, of course they didn't even think of that shit."

Tony stared back at her, seeming a little confused and overwhelmed.

Then he turned to the bomb specialist, incredulity heavy in his tone as he asked, "Is she being real?"

Ignoring his comment, Bette sighed and then said to her, "It gets worse."

"Worse how?" The brunette felt disappointment and horror start to well up within her in equal measure. "If you tell me that they are experimenting on the metahumans they have locked up there and Mr. Red knows about it-"

"No, that's not it," the redhead cut her off, "But it's bad, and I don't know how much the Flash knows, if he knows anything at all."

It was a relief, that her unexpected faith had not yet been mistakenly given to the wrong person.

"What is it then?" Michela pressed, "The longer you keep me in suspense, the worse my guesses get."

"Dr. Wells tried to do it again."

All the pieces lined up just like that. Bette's words. Tony's injuries. Her gaze fell on the man, who was still looking at her like she was some kind of alien being. Harrison Wells had tried to manipulate someone into killing for him again. Someone else had almost ended up dead because of him again.

"I'm telling Mr. Red," she swore, feeling her expression hardened with resolve, "About all of it."

"I know, and I won't stop you this time," Bette said with a grim nod, glancing at her and Tony, "I can see now that if there's anyone my flock needs protection from, it's from Dr. Wells."

The moment was solemn, heavy with the gravity of the decision they made together. It was shattered like glass when the only other person in the room broke the loaded silence.

"Seriously, what the hell are you people talking about?"

* * *

 **AN:** It's been a while. I forgot to mention it last time, but updates might be slow for a while due to finals, anime conventions, and going on a trip out of the country soon. The good news, though, the desire to write for this story is still strong. To make up for how long it took though, this chapter is a little longer. And, it comes with a bonus (not to be taken seriously) outside POV scene!

Oh yeah, I saved Tony...? Trippy, considering the last episode (for all of you current with S2). It aligns with the direction I plan to take this story, if you're catching the hints of what motivates Michela. Also, Bette has gotten a character tag, huzzah! I'll end this with a funny observation: Michela is starting to nurse a grudge the size of Kansas towards the Science Team.

* * *

[Back at STAR Labs]

Barry sneezed with enough force that it threw off his stride, making him hit the treadmill face first with a smack. Predictably, he was flung back into the packing peanuts they'd put there to soften his landings. Pulling himself up, he swiped at his now broken and bloodied nose with the back of his hand with a frown. He let his head tip back so he could stare up at the ceiling and stop the dripping.

As someone who'd chased after and later became the impossible, superstitions weren't the oddest thing for him to put stock in. Superstitions like sneezing when someone was talking about him.

It could've been Singh complaining about him. Or maybe Iris writing yet another post about the Flash. Or it could be Michela thinking up new insults for the next time they met up.

Knowing his luck, it was probably all three at once. With a sigh, he went to see if he could find Caitlin to look at his nose.


	7. Chapter 7: Need to Know

**Chapter Seven:** Need to Know

* * *

It was amazing her apartment hadn't been obliterated yet, even reinforced as it was. A miracle really, between the woman who made things explode with a touch and the temperamental man who could put a metal fist through walls.

Michela was starting to wonder if maybe Tony provoked Bette into their loud, drawn out arguments with those pointed sexist remarks out of sheer boredom. Both of them were confined to the apartment, what with the bomb specialist being wanted by the government and the metal man being injured and wanted by the law. The dark haired woman could at least go to work or volunteer if she wanted to get out of the apartment. Or away from those two.

The feud between them was funny for maybe the first day, but by day two it was just irritating. She'd been impatiently awaiting Mr. Red dropping in so they could talk out how to deal with this veritable shitstorm of a situation. She had no idea what to do with the metal man who she couldn't exactly turn back over to his captors or just kick out in his injured state. And she honestly had no idea what kind of reaction to expect out of her superhero acquaintance. But she'd always been a believer in getting things over and done with sooner rather than later. Like pulling a Band Aid.

So she crept into the half destroyed guestroom that used to be Bette's and snapped a picture of a sleeping Tony who was currently cuddling his pillow to send off in a text with

 _Lost something? Meet me on the roof ASAP._

Mr. Red was already there on the roof by the time she'd taken the stairs up. He was staring hard at something in his hand, and when she got closer, she realized it was probably his phone. For a moment, she thought about how odd it was that for as often as she'd texted this guy over the last couple weeks, this was the first time she'd ever seen his phone. Then again, she'd never seen his whole face let alone known his name, so there were weirder things about their relationship than that.

"Hey."

His head shot up at the sound of her voice. In a couple quick strides - damn his superior leg span - he was standing right in front of her with his hands on her upper arms.

"Are you okay? He hasn't hurt you or Bette has he? Where is he?"

Taking a moment to process his questions and the clear concern on his face, Michela couldn't help but smile at the fact that he was actually here. It was one thing for Bette to tell her he was fine after the man who could control lightning had attacked him. Whole other thing for him to be right in front of her, in costume as always and unharmed.

"Yeah, I'm okay, I'm fine. Tony's too hurt to do anything to anyone right now besides being a mouthy pain in the ass, honestly," she answered with a huffed laugh.

With an uncharacteristically sharp look, he asked, "Do you need me to take him back?"

All levity was washed away as if a bucket of iced water was dumped over her. She took a step back and she imagined her expression now matched his. Well, it did. Her own sudden shift had his features morphing into bewilderment.

"I can't let you take him back."

"What?"

"We need to have a long talk about this, and I don't know if you have time for it now, but the main thing is that I'm not letting you take him back," she insisted to him.

"I- what, but Michela-" Mr. Red stopped and stared very carefully at her face. "You don't get it. He's dangerous, he might hurt you and Bette, or do something else-"

"Like I said before," she cut him off, "He can't do much of anything right now because he's injured. But even when he does heal up, I'm not sure I can let him go back to that place."

"Why?" he pressed, before taking a step back as well and clapping a hand to the back of his neck with a sigh, "You said we needed to talk, and I have this awful feeling that this talk is going to include a very good reason that I'm _really_ not gonna like."

"Yeah, definitely not gonna like it," she nodded, tugging the coat she'd pulled on before heading out tighter around herself, "Let's get to it."

Then she lowered herself to the ground and sat cross legged gestured for him to follow. After shooting her a bemused and somewhat judgy look that just got him a glare back, he copied her.

"So…" he prompted when a minute passed of them sitting there and not talking.

"Which reason would you like me to start with? Cause there's a bad one and then there's a really bad one."

One of his hands dragged down his face as he groaned, "You have _two_ reasons?"

"I'll start with the bad one first then." Michela sat up a little. "Your metahuman prison is not okay."

The superhero frowned.

"What do you mean, not okay?"

"I'm going to give you and the STAR Labs people the benefit of the doubt on this one, that maybe you don't know better about prisons, or that you didn't have any better options, or that you've been too busy keeping powered criminals from wreaking havoc," she said placatingly even as her stomach began to roil, "But there has to be a moment when you stop and look at the conditions of that prison and realize that they are inhumane."

"In… humane?" the man echoed quietly, distress slowly starting to creep onto his visible features.

"Yes. There are a lot of things wrong with what's going on in that prison. They're being kept in isolation, in cells that sound like they are even smaller than standard prison cells, allowed no recreational activity, and given only the bare necessities for food, water, and bathroom use. Even if they are criminals, that's no way to live."

As she'd spoke, all she could think about was Tony, who in a more civil mood had told her more about his stay in the prison at STAR Labs, and Bette hesitantly confirming all of it as true. That fire in his eyes as he recalled all of the awful details. The matter of fact way he told her he'd rather kill himself before letting anyone take him back and really meant it. Yes, Tony was an asshole who tried to kill her friend, but not an asshole who deserved that.

If the shaken look on Mr. Red's face was any indication, he probably agreed.

"I didn't realize..." His tone was somewhere between defensive and uneasy. "This was the only way to keep them off the streets. They're too dangerous to just release and normal prisons wouldn't be able to contain them. I- What exactly were we- are we supposed to do?"

"I don't really have an answer for you, Mr. Red," Michela admitted, "Just- keep thinking about it, okay? Talk to the people at STAR Labs. See if they can come up with some way to improve the prisoners' conditions so that it's less messed up, maybe? Because I get that the prison might be necessary to protect the city from criminals with powers, but this is a situation where the ends may no longer justify the means. Stuff like this might work for someone like the Arrow in Star City, but you've never struck me as that kind of guy."

There was a flicker of challenge in his eyes, but the fight left him just as quickly as it came. A long exhale rattled out of the man in red, and then he nodded solemnly.

"Okay. Yeah. I can do that at least. So what was the really bad reason?"

The roiling in her stomach from before became a full on storm. This was the moment of truth. However, paranoia shot through her briefly.

"Your comms and trackers are off, right?" she couldn't help but demand even though they'd had a deal that everything had to be off when he visited since she had found out they were built into his suit.

"Yeah..." he answered her, the word trailing off with his uncertainty.

It did only a little to quell her nerves. She wanted to do this. She'd wanted to do this for weeks. There was even a speech she'd carefully scripted out and practiced in order to explain all of this to him. She could do this. Of course, Michela had never been very good with scripts. So when she opened her mouth to explain that the infamous director of STAR Labs was a morally crooked man who had tried to manipulate people into killing and getting killed for his own selfish ends, what came out instead was-

"Harrison Wells is a two-faced rat bastard."

A beat of silence passed as Mr. Red blinked wordlessly at her and she slapped a hand to her forehead.

"Is that it?"

"No," she mumbled, frustrated and embarrassed at herself for the stupid blurt, "Though he _is_ a two-faced rat bastard. I just need to give you the reasons why him being a two-faced rat bastard means I can't turn Tony over to you."

"I'm guessing it's not just because of the Particle Accelerator explosion," he offered, closing his eyes for a long moment and then reopening them.

"I can't say that thinking of that night inspires warm feelings in me, but no." She took a fortifying breath. "No, it's more about what he's done more recently."

"Letting Tony loose to distract that metahuman from killing us?" he guessed, sounding tired.

It surprised her that he already knew about that part, but she soldiered on.

"Yes, that's part of it."

"Part?" he cringed.

"Tony's not the first person Wells has tried to pull this with."

"No..."

"The reason Bette hasn't wanted to go back is because he tried to talk her into going on a suicide mission to kill General Eiling. Tried to convince her it was what she needed to do to protect other metahumans like you and me," Michela spat out, the nervousness she'd been feeling before transmuting into the cold fury she felt every time she thought about it, "If she hadn't come to me instead, she might have actually been killed."

That, or succeeded, and potentially ended up a resident in the metahuman prison herself. The mental visual her mind conjured up had the short haired woman shivering.

Refocusing on the superhero, she took in the sheer horror on the visible parts of his face. It reflected what she'd felt when the bomb specialist had told her what happened after breaking down in her arms. She could also read disappointment and betrayal there, too. Feelings she had some familiarity with herself.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Mr. Red finally asked, "About Dr. Wells and Bette?"

"Because she asked me not to," she replied simply, "It was her choice and I was going to respect it. But after hearing what happened with Tony, I couldn't stay silent anymore and she understood that."

"I-" He stopped short.

"Yeah. So that's why I'm not letting Tony go back." The brunette glanced at him, a wave of empathy washing over her. "I know you admire him. Depend on him to help you with your powers and saving Central City. And maybe he does care about you. But I can't let you blindly trust a man that can endanger the lives of people, especially people who matter to me. You had to know."

It went unsaid whether she considered him among the people who mattered to her. The man in red nodded to her, though his face was a battlefield of emotions. He pushed himself up and onto his feet and she followed suit. They stood together in silence until she cautiously broke it.

"Sorry to spring all of this on you in one go. There are still some things I need your help figuring out but I'm guessing you need some time to process."

"Yeah."

That tiredness that had been present in his tone for most of their conversation and heaviest in that response made her wince. Thinking quickly, she caught his elbow as he turned to go.

"You haven't been by for dinner in a while, and I've heard there's this awesome Greek place in Smallville of all places. Maybe when we get all of this figured out and neither of us are busy, you can get the food so you, me, and Bette can-"

"Yeah! Sounds good!" he blurted out, "Just uh, I'll text you when I'm ready to talk more. Maybe then we can make plans."

Nodding, she turned to head back down to her apartment. However, this time it was him catching her before she went to leave. She found herself tugged into hug. Her arms flailed for a moment as she tried to come to terms with the fact that this was the first time this weirdo had ever hugged her. That, and that it wasn't the worst experience ever. Tentatively, she wrapped her own arms around him and hugged back a little, too.

"You're a good friend, Michela. No matter what you try to tell me."

Being out there with the cold air was making her eyes water. Blinking the moisture away, she squeezed him a little tighter.

"And you're still skinny, no matter how you much you eat."

There was choking noise and then she felt the side of his head bump chidingly against her own.

"We were having a moment," he sighed, pulling away slowly.

"Sure." She smirked, patting him on the back. "Catch you later, Mr. Red."

"Keep me posted on Tony."

And in the time it took her to blink, he was gone.

* * *

Texts from the superhero were sporadic for the next while. It was pretty understandable, especially when superhero watch blogs started pumping out posts about the Flash collaborating with the Green Arrow and rumors of Flash sightings in Star City. Not that she read them, that seemed a little creepy when she knew the subject of the blogs. Bette was the one who trawled through all of that stuff. Of all the things that the redhead and Tony actually agreed on, it was that some blogger named Iris West was the best of the bunch. Of course, they differed vastly on why, the former liking the woman's writing style and the latter claiming she was really hot in person.

Things between those two had started to settle a little more, though. They still fought, but it was less frequent and intense. Tony was healed enough that it was okay for him to do some light exercise as long as one of them was there to keep him from straining himself, which might've contributed to his better behavior. It was pretty surprising to realize that the metal man seemed to have some kind of accelerated healing along with what he had gotten from the incident that had given them all abilities. Both she and her first roommate had wondered if anything like that had happened to them as well.

Not that they had interest in actually finding out for themselves anytime soon.

The question about what to do with Tony still loomed over her head. He couldn't go back to STAR Labs, that much all three of them agreed on. Did he just go free now that he was healed? Would he go back to stealing and enthusiastically trying to murder Mr. Red? There were other questions, and though she wanted to bring said superhero into the discussions, her criminal guest's quick recovery would possibly not allow them enough the time to wait for the hero's participation.

All of that was thankfully put out of her mind for the short period of time she was at the women's center that given evening. Especially after Jinna had invited her to sit in on any meeting of her choosing in the future. She had a lot of thinking to do about what meeting she'd want to pick, but that was a great problem to have. It made for something pleasant to start on the short drive back home.

That pleasant air evaporated the moment she stepped into her apartment and everything was dark. It may have been late, but it was too early for both the people living with her to have turned in already. At least one or the other would have still been up, either watching late night programming or browsing online. Her hand was already in her bag and on her taser as she moved further in. She'd made it to the livingroom when a deep and commanding voice shattered the deathly quiet.

"Michela Calhoun." The brunette whirled to face the direction the voice came from, the taser held out threateningly. "Or should I say Michela Hamilton?"

The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Her eyes darted around. Where was he? More importantly, where were Bette and Tony? Her other hand went to her cell phone, finger on the button that served as a panic button. A figure stepped into the moonlight from out of the darkness. Everything in her hands almost slipped out of them in her shock, but she held it together. She even managed to school her facial features into imitation of her uncle's cool expression when dealing with something unpleasant.

"What brings a busy man like the Green Arrow all the way to my humble apartment in Keystone?" she finally asked, proud that she managed to say that as calmly as she did.

Said man's mouth twisted into a scowl, the rest of his features obscured by hood and shadow. Her heart leapt into her throat when he pointed his bow threateningly at her.

"The Flash," he stated, a hint of growl in his heavily modulated voice, "What do you want with him?"

* * *

 **AN:** Wow, when I said slow, I really hoped it wouldn't take me almost a month and a half to update. Sorry everyone. Not sure if I'll be going back to updating once a week, but I'll try to keep it close. Also, most of this chapter was made up of one conversation and I regret nothing. The Pipeline creeped me out, okay. This chapter takes us from the end of Flash S1E7 to sometime post Flash S1E8/Arrow S3E8. And look who showed up?

Alternate Chapter Names: It's Raining Vigilantes, Like a Band Aid, and Two-Faced Rat Bastards


	8. Chapter 8: Trust or Verify

**Chapter Eight: Trust or Verify**

* * *

"Well," she drawled out, "If there was really one thing I wanted from Mr. Red, it would be to change the costume color. It's painful, really, seeing how ridiculous he looks on a regular basis."

Unsurprisingly, this was not the answer the vigilante expected. Or wanted. Michela's faked cool slipped further as the man took another menacing step forward once more in response. Hell, she could even feel her constant low grade headache creeping into migraine territory, perfect timing as always. Her mind spun as she wondered again just what happened to Bette and Tony, about whether he had done something to them.

"What do you want with him?" he reiterated, his tone indicating that he was not going to accept another smartass answer.

Tough shit for him then. She wasn't going to play this game with this asshole. It didn't matter if he was a work acquaintance of Mr. Red's. Even Tony had met the minimum level of courtesy to knock when he'd first dropped in on her. If this guy wanted to interrogate her, he was going to have to work for it.

"I already answered that." She lifted her head in defiance. "And since I already did, I'd like to know: where are my roommates?"

"You don't ask the questions."

There he went again with that demanding, entitled way of talking. She bet the vigilante was used to getting what he wanted when he asked for it. And for a moment, she shuddered mentally when it occurred to her that he probably had ways of _making_ people give him what he wanted. This particular masked man had a reputation that even she had heard about. One that she had ruthlessly thrown in Mr. Red's face as a guilt trip when they'd talked about the metahuman prison not that long ago.

If this was karma for that, karma could suck it.

"Why?" Michela demurred, "We're having a conversation, aren't we? You ask a question, I answer. I ask a question, you answer. Rinse and repeat. It's a pretty simple concept. Unless we're not actually having a conversation here."

When treated to tense silence, she sneered at him and pressed, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure this isn't a conversation, because so far, the only feeling I've been getting is that this is breaking and entering and harassment, with a side of possible assault and stalking. If what I'm feeling is true, I have no problem calling the cops on you."

"That would be a mistake," the Green Arrow warned, for the first time so far seeming a little off balance underneath the intimidation tactics.

"How is calling the cops on a man breaking into my apartment, possibly hurting my roommates, and terrorizing me not the right call to make?" she questioned sharply.

"I'm trying to make sure you're not a threat to the Flash," he not-answered, a barely there hint of frustration in his voice.

"Oh yeah, big threat here, all five foot five inches of me against the six foot something superhero." She shot a snide smile at him. "Or maybe it was the coffee fetching intern part that had you worried."

It seemed like he'd regained some steam, because he snapped right back, "You know neither of those things is what sent up red flags about you."

And yeah, she'd guessed that. The moment he'd dropped her last name - her other last name - it was pretty clear what the vigilante was there for. Anyone who knew anything about the specific branch of Hamiltons she happened to be related to were right to be a little wary. But hell if she was going to let the man use her relations to justify scaring the crap out of her, violating her privacy, and harming the people in her care. She went by Calhoun for a reason, one that she was in no way obligated to share with him, or anything else for that matter.

"So you can run a background check. Good for you," she sniffed breezily, carefully tamping down the angry, excited energy thrumming through her, "As much as I would love to talk about my complicated family history, I actually wouldn't so I'm not going to. But I am going to tell you something you might find useful."

"And that is?" the man questioned flatly.

With a predatory smile, she brought her phone up into his line of sight.

"I hit the panic button the minute you started talking and it's been long enough that they should be on their way. So if you don't want to deal with that, I suggest you get the hell out of my apartment as soon as you can, please and thank you," she informed him.

A vicious shot of satisfaction went through her when his already sour disposition only became more so.

"This isn't over."

She couldn't help a snort at how cliche the remark was. 'This isn't over?' _Please._

"Yeah, it isn't," Michela agreed, nodding to herself. When he stiffened in what she assumed was surprise, she went on, "I'll be telling on you."

"What?"

"I'll be telling on you. To the Flash," she explained to him matter-of-factly, "I'm not above pulling the five year-old card, here. You're a jerk so I'm telling on you. And seriously, you'll be in for the full 'The Flash is Disappointed in You' treatment."

Even without a clear look at his face, there was a distinct feeling of disbelief hanging in the air. His hand went to his ear, and then he turned to the side a bit and started muttering. It was too quiet for her to hear across the room, even if her apartment was mostly silent. She noted to herself that, like Mr. Red, it seemed that the Green Arrow also had a team he worked with. Any interest she felt quickly dissolved, because honestly, she really didn't care.

One superhero in her life was already more than enough. And this one wasn't worth knowing.

Once done with talking into what she assumed was a comm link, the Green Arrow turned back to her. For a moment, she got the impression he wanted to say more, but he must've thought better of it. He then took swift, determined strides towards her window, which had her jumping and almost sticking him with her taser when he brushed past. In the span of ten seconds, he opened a window, notched an arrow attached to a cable, fired said arrow out of the aforementioned window, and then leapt out into the night.

After a long moment, Michela darted over to the window, closed it, and then locked it. Then she dropped to her knees out of line of sight through the window and just stayed there. Adrenaline was still rampaging mercilessly through her and she needed to calm her heartbeat and breathing. Freaking out was probably an appropriate reaction right about now, but she had to find her roommates and makes sure they were all right. Once she felt like her heart and lungs were no longer going to burst out of her chest, she crawled away from the window until she felt safe enough to stand and dash to the guestrooms.

In each room, she found what she was looking for. A quick check on both Bette and Tony confirmed that both were alive. Not dead, like she'd dreaded, seeing them so still laid out on the beds. However, neither of them woke when shaken. She quickly called Mr. Red. The ringing went on and on for a long time until it went to voicemail, playing the clipped 'hey, leave a message' that she'd had him record after almost accidentally hearing his real name the first time she'd tried to call. With a sigh, she told him to call as soon as possible. And then sent a text to say the same as well just in case.

Not knowing what else to do, she sat on the chair at Bette's bedside, resolving to keep an eye on her while she waited for Mr. Red to get back to her. With a wince, she also realized she'd need to send away the people coming because she hit the panic button for what they'd think was no reason. God, this night was just getting worse and worse.

Tremors still wracked her body.

* * *

Several hours - and an awkward conversation with the cops - later, her cell phone rang just as she'd been about to doze off. She cursed when the phone tumbled out of her lap onto the floor and scrambled blearily after it. Only after the fourth ring was she able to get her hands on it and swipe to answer.

" _Michela_." The voice was tired.

"Mr. Red," she breathed out, the rush of relief at the sound of his voice almost bringing her to tears, "I'm sorry - It's-"

" _Something's wrong_ ," he said, now alert.

"It's Bette and Tony, he did something to them and they won't wake up and I don't know what to do," she explained, desperately trying to hold onto the last threads composure she had left.

Apparently, she wasn't doing a good job of that, because the next words coming over the line were, " _Calm down, I'm on my way, just be ready at the door for me._ "

"Okay."

Standing, she headed for the front door, shooting one last glance at Bette's unmoving form as she did so. By the time she was there, there was already a knock coming through. Her hands fumbled a bit as she undid the locks and security system. With a huge breath in then out, she pulled the door open. It was a near thing yet again to not breakdown and cry.

"Hey, are you all right?" he asked in a rush, his hands immediately dropping onto her shoulders.

"I'm fine." That came out quick and the look he shot her was rife with skepticism and concern. "I'm _fine_. Come on, Bette and Tony are in the other rooms."

He followed her when she made for the guest bedrooms, closing the door behind him as he went. She hung back as he went to their redheaded friend's side and started checking her over. Pulse, breathing, eyes.

"She seems okay, just knocked out," Mr. Red finally said, pulling back, "Likely she was drugged. I can't tell if there are supposed to be any other negative side effects. You said Tony was like this too?

All Michela could do in response was nod.

"Hey, hey, are you still with me?" His words snapped her out of the daze she hadn't realized she'd gone into. "I need you to tell me what happened. You said earlier that someone did this to them?"

"Yeah." Licking her dry dry lips, she looked away. "Yeah, he broke into my apartment while I was out and did that to them, and then he waited for me to come home."

"Did he hurt you?" he asked, his tone of voice gentle and concerned with an undercurrent restrained emotion.

"No, no," she answered shaking her head, "He just scared me. A lot. I think that was what he was here for. To scare me. And to interrogate me."

"About what?"

"My past. And…" She met his gaze head on. "About you."

Terror and fury chased across his features.

"What did he look like? Was it a man in yellow?"

The second question threw her.

"Yellow? No. He wore black and green. It was…" She trailed off. "It was the Green Arrow."

Mr. Red stilled.

"He- It- It was the Green Arrow?"

"Yeah," she answered, watching as his mouth fell into a hard, flat line, "He questioned _-_ " she did air quotes "- _my intentions_ towards you."

Not a very good attempt at a joke. Her heart just hadn't been in it. And judging by the even darker look on the superhero's face, it did nothing to lighten the mood.

"I'm gonna kill him," he grit out finally.

"As much as the thought of you going after that prick gives me the warm and fuzzies," she told him with wobbly smile, "I'd rather you put your focus back on Bette and Tony right now."

There was still so much anger radiating off of him, but he backed down with a sigh.

"If it was the Green Arrow who did this, then they're going to be fine. He's not in the habit of fatally poisoning people. Just tranq darting them," he ended on a mutter, one of his gloved hands drifting to rub at his neck.

That got lifted eyebrows out of her, even as something that had been held very tightly within her finally released.

"He's tranq darted you before, hasn't he?"

"Yes," he admitted bitterly to her, "And interrogated me, too. _And_ shot me in the back with real arrows as part of training."

" _What the hell?_ " she exclaimed, before slapping a hand over her mouth and looking over to Bette who was still out cold.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too."

"Are you okay?" She couldn't help leaning to check his back. "I mean, was there any lasting damage?"

"Ah, no. Have I never told you before that my hyper metabolism also came with super healing? 'Cause it, uh, does."

"And lemme guess." Her eyes narrowed. "He rationalized shooting you in the back as okay because you can heal?"

"Yeah. And, I mean, he had a point, but…"

"But nothing, pain is pain!" Michela's hands had started shaking again, so she folded her arms so she could tuck them into her armpits and out of sight. "It still hurt right?"

Mr. Red looked away.

"Yes."

"He used your ability as a justification for hurting you. If I didn't already think that guy was scum, this would have done it for me."

"He was trying to teach me a lesson," he defended weakly, "He's a hero."

"He's a bully," she returned fiercely, her arms tightening further around herself, "Who sounds like a shit teacher."

And thankfully, he didn't try to make any more attempts to protest, just nodded.

"I'm sorry," The man eventually said.

"For what?" she scoffed, "You apologize so much that I can't even keep track of the reasons why anymore."

"For this," he answered, gesturing to herself and Bette, "Him coming here. Coming after you."

The brunet tensed at that before eyeing him carefully.

"He came to interrogate me about you. So maybe it is your fault a bit, but why are you acting like a kicked puppy over this?"

"Because I told him-" he started, stopped, and then shudderingly continued, "I told him I wanted to tell a friend about my secret identity. I said I wasn't sure about it yet, and that I wanted his advice. He told me to wait, keep thinking on it. And then he asked for your name."

Though she didn't miss what he was implying, she chose to focus on the last part. From her name had come the background check Star City's masked man had done on her. And that was how he unearthed her other name. Which had led him to tracking her down and questioning her. It made sense, in an awful, stupid way.

"I'm not mad at you," Michela finally said, "At least I don't think I am."

His head snapped up at that.

"You aren't?"

"No. I mean, am I irritated you gave my name to a clearly unstable vigilante? Yeah, yeah I am." Mr. Red made a noise in the back of his throat. "But he's the one who put me and Bette and Tony through this. If I didn't already know it would be pointless trying to sue someone with a secret identity, trust me I would sue him in a heartbeat. As it stands, I'd settle for you exacting some form of vengeance on my behalf. I am partial to you gaslighting him somehow with your superspeed, but that's because I am petty and sadistic."

"I'll think about it," he told her wryly, before anger laced his voice once more, "I shouldn't have involved him in the first place. Deciding who to tell my secret identity to should have been my own business."

"Well, it makes sense to ask people for advice if you trust them to give you good advice. Except, you know, you went to the wrong person, in this case. From my perspective, at least. I'm pretty biased, based on how everything played out."

It was her turn to gesture at herself and Bette. With a wince, he nodded in agreement.

"You're entitled to your bias, in this case."

"Not that I needed your approval on that, but yeah." Quiet settled over them for a bit, until she decided to address what she'd been ignoring. "And uh, not that his actions tonight are justified, but there's stuff that he found in my background check that are worth being suspicious about. Reasons why someone like me shouldn't know your identity."

"Michela." She hadn't realized it, but her gaze had dropped while she was talking. It snapped back up to meet his when he said her name. "There might be reasons not to in your background check, but I've gotten to know you. I have a lot of reasons why I want you to know."

"Mr. Red-"

"Reason one," he cut her off with a grin as he held up a gloved finger, and was treated to glare, "It would be nice for you to actually use my real name one of these days instead of that awful nickname."

"That's a terrible reason. And I like the nickname, it's fitting."

Another finger joined the first.

"Reason two: I wouldn't have to go change into the suit every time I wanted to hang out with you and Bette. The people at STAR Labs are getting tired of cleaning food stains out of the suit, too."

"That's… less of a terrible reason. Dry cleaning is tedious."

A third finger was added.

"Reason three: you never asked." She gave him a look. "No really. That's meant more than anything else, that you didn't pressure me to tell you. It's been weeks since I even worried about you finding out who I am. Because I don't really worry anymore. If you found out, it wouldn't be the end of the world because I know you wouldn't use it against me. You might be tired of hearing me say this, but you're a good person, regardless of your background. I trust you."

If asked, she'd blame it on how stressful the night had been. Stress was the only cause she was willing to accept when moisture started pooling and spilling from the corners of her eyes. Mr. Red smiled that stupid, soft smile he did sometimes and pulled her in for their second hug ever. She couldn't even muster any clever comments for him, like yeah, he was sounding like a broken record with that "good person" stuff or how it was dumb to trust her. It really had just been a bad night all around with the Green Arrow, and worrying about Bette and Tony, and having to talk to the cops.

And maybe it felt good knowing that for as much as she trusted him, he trusted her right back.

.

Mr. Red left not long after that, once he was sure she was going to be okay. He didn't tell her his secret identity, nor did she tell him any of her own secrets. It was one thing to trust each other. It was another to still not be ready for what that trust meant. That was something both of them understood.

And whether they really knew it or not, the time for reveals was coming.

* * *

 **AN** : Okay everyone: real talk - I admittedly have not seen all of the Arrow series but I do like it and Oliver Queen, and I'm not here to bash him. (I hate character bashing.) The character behavior in this chapter is not out of line with him. In Arrow S3, he tries to intimidate/interrogate someone very close to him because they are hiding something from him. And if you know anything about Michela, she is going to call him out on his wrongdoings just like she's called Barry out so far. All she's seen is bad, so that's the only opinion she can form of the Green Arrow. If you feel like talking more about this, feel free to shoot me a PM.

Anyway, this chapter didn't go as originally intended, but it actually turned out better than expected. Hope all of you enjoy. (Also, changed the story summary, yay!)


	9. Chapter 9: Face of Things to Come

**Chapter Nine:** Face of Things to Come

* * *

Her cell phone rang. Turning her eyes away from watching as the industrial sector of Keystone shifted into downtown Central City on her way to work, Michela pulled out the phone and glanced at the caller ID. An slightly uneasy feeling crept over her when she saw who it was. With a sigh, she swiped to answer and brought it to her ear.

"Hey, uncle mine."

" _Hello, niece mine,"_ came that familiar drawl, even more pronounced than usual, making her wince.

"You're pissed."

" _Whatever made you think that?_ " She closed her eyes and waited for it. " _The fact that my niece's apartment was broken into even though I've installed the most state of the art security systems into it? Or the fact that I found out about it from the alert I got sent afterwards and not from you picking up your phone and letting me know?_ "

"I thought I had it handled," she mumbled, before sighing again and saying, "I'm sorry."

" _Well, it does seem that you're all right,_ " he said once he'd let her sweat a long stretch of silence following her apology, " _But you realize that not just anyone should have been able to get in._ "

"It wasn't just anyone," she confirmed, then added, "But they're not going to be a problem. At least, I don't think so."

" _Don't sound so sure, firecracker._ " The frown was audible through the phone speaker. " _This something your Dad and aunt and I should give you a hand with?_ "

That made a smile creep onto her face. Her family on her Dad's side could be formidable when they wanted to be. However… the smile on her face faltered. Formidable as they were, they weren't equipped to handle the Green Arrow. No, she already had Mr. Red on it. There was no need to involve her uncle or anyone else.

"It'll be all right. Someone's taking care of it for me."

" _Is it because you're talking to that pretentious little prick you dated in high school again?_ " He paused. " _Or does it have to do with that roommate of yours your aunt mentioned was in trouble?_ "

If it wouldn't have disturbed the passenger sitting in front of her, she would have leaned forward and thunked her head against the seat. Repeatedly.

"It's not because of either of them. They're both fine. It's something else and it's being handled, okay?" she insisted.

" _I suppose,_ " her uncle finally uttered, " _But you know I'll be dropping by sometime soon to take a look at the security system to make sure it's uncompromised and upgraded, right?_ "

It took everything in Michela not to roll her eyes because she was sure he'd know even if he couldn't see her. Her uncle, ever the paranoid security consultant.

"I figured."

" _Your aunt will want to come, too. So we can finally meet this roommate of yours._ " Some hesitation slipped into his voice. " _We could bring your Dad along, if you want?_ "

"I guess." The woman let her head rest against the glass window to the right of her seat. "He doesn't have to if he's busy."

" _Take care of yourself, kid,_ " was all her uncle said in response to that.

"You too. See you when I see you."

Then the line went dead. She slipped it back into her purse. Great.

* * *

"So you're saying you don't celebrate during the holidays?" Bette asked, glancing at them from over her coffee cup.

"Not really. Maybe grab some drinks with guys from work. If I have work," Tony grunted with a shrug as he tucked into his breakfast.

"Uh, no?" Michela eventually answered once she realized the other woman had turned all of her attention onto her, "My family's never really done anything, so I just don't."

That got a frown as the redhead looked them both over.

"I've seen more holiday spirit deployed overseas in the middle of nowhere than I'm getting from you two."

Glancing at the man who seemed completely unbothered by the comment, the dark haired woman turned her gaze back her friend.

"Is there something wrong with that?" she asked slowly.

For a moment, the ex-bomb specialist seemed quick to say something. But then she caught herself and bit her lip.

"No," the other woman finally answered, "There's nothing wrong with that."

"But?" Michela pushed carefully.

"I've just always celebrated, you know?" Bette pushed the food on her plate around. "Even when it was just me on my own or while I was deployed, I'd celebrate. And…"

"Do you want to?"

The redhead stared back at her.

"What?"

"Celebrate," the brunette asked her, buttering some toast, "Do you want to? It's not like I'd mind, so you're welcome to. We can get decorations, get whatever the usual foods are, just let me know."

"I-" There was shiny sheen over the other woman's eyes. "I'll make a list. I want to do a beef roast. Then we'll have plenty of leftovers until New Years."

"Would it be tacky if I proposed during our celebration?" Michela joked with a huge grin, "I might not be able to resist if you go through with making beef roast."

"You people are so damn weird," Tony mumbled, scooping more eggs onto his plate.

"And you're gonna be helping me with the cooking," Bette stated matter of factly.

"What!" the man exclaimed before pointing at the brunette, "Why me? Why can't she help you?"

"Because she houses and feeds us for free, so you're gonna do this and help earn your keep," the ex-bomb specialist snapped.

"I don't see why I shou-!"

The short haired woman smiled peacefully once she had her earbuds popped in, bopping her head along to the music turned on high as she kept eating. They'd figure it out.

Or break something.

.

Her apartment ended up looking very… festive.

Winter themed decorations mostly, since Bette had insisted on primarily non-denominational decorations in consideration of neither Michela or Tony having any real faith or tradition. It had gotten shrugs out of both of them; the brunette could appreciate the gesture though. So everything was mostly lights, and wreaths, and snowflakes lining the walls, resting on tabletops and counters, and on doorways. The only purely Christmas themed things were the tiny potted tree and the stockings that the bomb specialist had shyly asked for after some coaxing. Their tree was now sitting on the coffee table in the livingroom, delicately adorned with handmade paper decorations. Each of the stockings had been hung near the big window in the same room. The metal man never failed to scowl at it once it was announced that the fourth was a guest stocking for Mr. Red.

The redhead had also started pumping out a whole bunch of baked goods and treats she claimed were traditional from where she came from. Which to the other woman's shock were French traditions from when Bette had once upon a time lived in French Canada before emigrating to the United States. Her roommate had proceeded to dazzle her with some things said in French and then some in Pashto and Dari just to show off as she produced another candied apple. So by the end of the huge undertaking of filling the apartment with holiday cheer, it constantly smelled of pine, scented candles, and sugar and glowed from all of the lights.

Honestly, she never would have believed her apartment capable of looking like this. Her aunt was gonna flip out if she ever saw it. She'd always lamented that her brothers and niece didn't have a single festive bone in their bodies. That hadn't changed, but she'd find a way to use it as fuel to change their boring ways.

* * *

It was a nice night in eating cookies the ex-bomb specialist had made while they all lounged in the livingroom watching TV and for once no one was complaining about the movie choice. Michela congratulated herself for finding a movie that promised both a strong female lead and a monsters fighting robots to satisfy both roommates. When asked, she claimed she'd just picked it for the eye candy cast.

If not for a knock at the door, things would have stayed like that.

With a frown, she got up to go see who it was, signalling to both her roommates to sit tight and keep watching. A glance through the peephole revealed a man on the other side. He was tall, brunet, and thin. And he looked keyed up as he paced back and forth in front of her door. Considering him for a moment, she took a chance, keeping the chain on and opening the door just a crack so she could address him.

"You know it's not considered polite to make house calls at this time of night," she informed him through the gap, "Who are you and what are you here for?"

He'd stopped the minute she'd popped the door ajar and was practically pressed into the opening.

"I'm sorry to barge in like this Michela, I just-" he started before stopping and pressing a hand to the back of his head and grimacing, "I guess you might not recognize me."

Well, maybe not at first just looking through a peephole at him, but the voice was a dead give away. That and the familiar eyes. And nose. And mouth. And god awful posture.

It was Mr. Red.

There were probably a lot of things she could have said to him. Something rude, like, "I'd know that stupid posture anywhere." Or angry, like, "You could have warned me before showing up like this!"

But all she could think to say as she gazed up at him was, "I thought you'd be blond."

"Huh?"

"Or maybe red hair under that red suit, that would be even better."

"Are you- Is that seriously all you have to say?" the superhero asked, face slack with disbelief.

"It's all I got right now, honestly," she admitted, her eyes stuck wide open, "Excuse me for not expecting-" she motioned up and down at him "-this."

"Ah, yeah, right." There was a long and tense moment where they just stared at each other. "Is this- Can I- I mean…?"

"Do you want to come in?" she prompted, "If you're all right with being in close proximity to your childhood bully who tried to kill you recently that is?"

The man blinked.

"Right. Tony's here. Yeah, I uh, he's not gonna, you know, try and kill me again?"

"He knows not to, if he doesn't want Bette exploding his special bits off. You're not going to try taking him back to your jail, right?"

His head shook vigorously.

"No, I wouldn't do that."

"Then you should be fine." With that, she shut the door, undid the chain, and then reopened it to let him in. "Come on bud. I have a feeling this is probably going to be one of those kinds of conversations."

.

Once she and Bette and stopped Tony from freaking out and Mr. Red had promised he had no intentions of recapturing the metal metahuman, Michela excused herself and superhero (and a couple handfuls of cookies) to her own room. They'd settled in, or at least, she had sitting on her bed against the headboard while the man paced and talked. He caught her up on everything that had been happening lately on his side and like she'd guessed, it had been a lot. Definitely a lot more stuff to suddenly find out about him in one go than just finding out that her roommate was French Canadian and fluent in a handful of languages.

While it was worse than she'd expected, it didn't surprise her that the superhero had been carrying something so heavy with him this entire time. She supposed that superheroes, like some social workers, could have deeply personal reasons for wading into the hardship and ugliness of life and trying to make something better out of it. Something that motivated him towards the kind of self sacrifice that put him at odds with people he cared about and that put himself at risk almost every night. What really surprised her was how he seemed so convinced he was running from something. Michela knew what running felt like, looked like. After all, she'd run from almost everything in her own life. Whatever he was doing, it seemed the opposite. That he was running towards something.

Turned out there was a lot more to Mr. Red than she could have guessed at. Mother murdered as a boy and father in prison, charged with the crime. After finally tracking the real culprit down, being barred from helping apprehend him. In the same night confessing to the woman he'd been in love with for 15 years and knowing it would go nowhere. Probably the hardest part for her to imagine was that he had managed to be in love with the same woman for 15 years and had not been found out until now. But that would have been inappropriate to comment on just then, so she just listened quietly as he got all of it off his chest.

Sitting in silence listening also gave her a lot of time to just look at him. It was weird, that he really had an entire face under all of that mask. And not blonde hair. And he was actually kind of cute. Again, not something she was going to say aloud at this point in time.

There'd be better moments to tease him about his attractive but obscenely babyish face.

"I know this is gonna sound funny considering who you are, but slow down for a bit and come sit with me," the woman demanded, patting the spot beside her against the headboard.

He hesitated on the spot where he'd stopped when she'd spoken, shifting agitatedly from foot to foot. It made her pat the bed next to her a little more insistently. With an aggravated sigh, he finally went. Once there, she poked and prodded until he was practically laid down instead, his head in her lap.

"Why am I doing this, oh-" was all he got out before her fingers slid into his hair and pressed on his scalp.

"Yeah. Oh." She started in on the spots just behind his ears and got a content little sigh. "See how nice this is? This is why I make you do it when my headaches are really bad."

All he could do was melt a little more under her fingers. She took advantage of it.

"I don't really have words for what you're going through right now," Michela said softly, "It all sounds really bad and me being sorry about it won't do anything. I know that's never done anything for me before. So just rest for now. You probably need it, with everything going on, huh?"

That got only a snore.

" _And_ you're asleep." She patted his cheek and snickered when he didn't stir. "That's good."

.

Mr. Red only got about 20 minutes of rest before a text notification sounded from the cell phone clutched in his hand over his chest. She shook him awake to read the SOS. The moment he saw it, there was a hand pressing her eyes shut and a quick, "Gotta go," muttered. Then he was gone in a whoosh when she opened her eyes again. Quietly, she slipped back into the living room to rejoin Bette and Tony, mutely watching as a robot was crushed by one of the sea monsters and not meeting either of her roommates' gazes.

Michela didn't realize she'd practically been holding her breath since the SOS until she got a text from him just as she was about to go to sleep.

 _-Sorry for just showing up-_

 _-It's okay, I think you needed it-_

She meant it, she realized with only a little surprise.

 _-But you saw my face-  
_ _-You didnt want to-_

Her lips started to fall into a frown.

 _-It's OKAY-_

 _-Are you sure-_

 _-Yes Mr. Red. I'm sure-_

A long period of nothing passed, and then he sent her one more text

 _-Can I tell you my name-_

After letting the question hang for a bit, she responded with

 _-No, not yet, okay?-|  
_ _-Save it for later-_

And then came

 _-Ok-  
_ _-Thanks Michela-  
_ _-Goodnight-_

 _-Goodnight Mr. Red-_

With a sigh, she dropped her cell phone on the bed next to her, not feeling like getting up to plug it in. Rolling over so her back was to it, she finally closed her eyes and let herself drift off.

* * *

In the morning, she'd wake to a text from her uncle

 _-Expect us on Saturday-_

* * *

 **AN:** Oh man. Season 3 of Flash. That Comic Con preview. My body is ready. In the meantime, we'll be soldiering on through S1 here with Michela. Thank you to everyone who reassured me about Oliver's portrayal in the the previous chapter. I was concerned, but my fears were laid to rest. (Also, had to make a crack about comic book Barry being blond, and Justice League cartoon Flash Wally West* being a redhead.)

*Per a review, corrected this note so that it says Wally and not Barry as a redhead.

* * *

Bonus Scenes:

[Earlier]

"I told you not to, Ollie!" Felicity yelled over the comms as her eyes flicked from screen to screen and her fingers flew across the keyboard. "I told you. But did you listen? _I don't think so!_ "

At her side, Dig was of no use. He had a hand braced against the side of the van, hunched over a bit and shaking. With laughter.

"This is serious Dig," she scowled, "She called the cops on him."

"And Ollie deserved it. You know he did. He'll get out of this fine on his own."

Felicity sighed.

"It's not this I'm really worried about."

Dig frowned.

"What is it?"

"What's gonna happen when Barry finds out he did this?" she asked, biting her lip.

If she had expected him to be worried, she was severely disappointed when what she got was more stifled laughter.

"Dig! It's too soon after the Arrow v. Flash thing for this to be funny! _Dig!_ "

.

[Later]

Thoughtlessly, he crossed the room to the weapons case, only to stop.

Oliver blinked. Then frowned.

His feet had left him two feet over from the case. His eyes narrowed. Had it moved? Had he moved it?

The man shook his head. He was probably just imagining things.


	10. Chapter 10: See It Don't Believe It

**Chapter Ten:** See It, Don't Believe It

* * *

Mr. Red was given explicit instructions to not drop in on the day her aunt and uncle visited short of anything but the world ending. Tony had also been kicked out of the apartment for the day. Between her aunt's nosiness and her uncle's suspicious nature, there was a high likelihood of the metal man getting recognized as a dangerous criminal. He was still on the run from her side of Kansas till that side of Missouri after all. Even if her aunt and uncle never struck her as the most law conscious people, they also never struck her as people who wouldn't want someone like Tony around their niece. So she got him set up in a motel within walking distance of the apartment, supplied with beer and takeout cash.

Now it was just her and Bette, snacks laid out and untouched on the coffee table, waiting for the doorbell to ring.

And it did, precisely at the time her uncle said they'd be there.

With a long, aggrieved sigh and a shared look between herself and her roommate, she got up to answer the door. The minute it was open, she had an armful of aunt and a mouthful of glossy brown curls that she had to spit out. Just over her aunt's shoulder and mane of hair, she could see her uncle shooting them a bored but fond look. It took a moment to push down the heaviness in her chest when she saw who hadn't come.

"You gonna invite us in anytime soon, kid?" her uncle asked.

"Eventually. Whenever Aunt Alisa lets go."

"Spoilsport," said aunt grumbled at her as she released her and backed off, "The only way to get hugs is to surprise you."

"Get Uncle Allen to give you hugs," the younger woman grumbled right back, "He'd let you hug him to your heart's content."

Said uncle grimaced but didn't argue the comment. Michela chose then to finally move back and let the two of them in. Her aunt was quick to dart in, the decorations immediately drawing her in close to admire. Uncle Allen came at a much more sedate pace, eyes dragging over her apartment and settling on the redhead standing back where the hallway met the kitchen.

"Hi, I'm Bette, the roommate," she introduced herself with a slight nod, posture a bit stiff, "Would you like anything to drink?"

Alisa immediately tore herself away from the decorations to request a drink and offer introductions of her own. Her uncle had just nodded back as his sister dragged the redhead off, hanging back with the brunette.

"Well, that's concerning," the man commented to her as they headed for the livingroom together.

"What is?" she demanded, tension immediately curling claws into her shoulders.

"She's ex-military." He shot her a piercing look. "Her problems aren't the normal kind, are they?"

This was definitely why she kicked Tony - with his attitude and douche-y haircut and tattoos - out for the day. And knowing her uncle, lying or trying to diminish the seriousness of his question would fail. So she nodded grimly.

"Yeah. It's not good." Michela looked him in the eye. "If I can help it, the people after her will never get their hands on her again."

After a long bout of locked gazes, he closed his eyes and took a long inhale through the nose before opening them again.

"We're gonna have a long talk about that at some point."

"Yeah," she nodded again, with a sigh.

They were interrupted when Alisa and Bette came to join them with their drinks. They spent some time chatting. Bette telling her aunt and uncle about herself, Michela talking about spending more time at the women's center helping Francine who was planning on going on sick leave soon, and Alisa about her jewelry acquisition business. Once or twice, her uncle made a comment, but didn't really talk about his own work, or her dad. She was glad for the latter. It had been too much to hope her aunt and uncle could pull him away from work just to visit. Why she even let herself, she wasn't sure.

Eventually, her uncle pulled himself away to check the security systems, leaving his sister to keep talking to them. The minute he did, the older woman took the opportunity to focus in on Bette.

"You know…" She shot sly look at the redhead. "It might make roommate dynamics kind of weird, but have you ever considered dating Mickey? You'd make a cute couple."

The ex-bomb specialist just stared long and hard back at her, before turning to her friend.

"Everything about you suddenly makes so much more sense."

Both aunt and niece shared a glance then burst into laughter, the redhead shaking her head but joining in soon after.

* * *

All in all, her aunt and uncle visiting turned out to be a lot more painless than she'd anticipated, and they were gone as quickly as she hoped once Allen finished with his business. It probably said something about her that that made her more nervous. Considering the theme of things lately, she felt pretty justified. Even bringing home Tony went well. No mishaps while gone, he'd thoroughly enjoyed getting out of the apartment for a short while. He had burned through the money she'd left him ordering internet access and porn for his room. Yeah, things had been perfectly fine for him.

For a short time, she'd considered giving her dad a call. Seeing Alisa and Allen always made her think of him more than she already did. Sometimes Tony reminded her of the man as well. Rory Calhoun was large and brash. Both of those traits got him frequently hired and fired from a multitude of jobs, working at a crematorium the latest of the bunch. If her roommate and dad ever met, those two would either get along like a house fire or kill each other. Probably better to never find out, just like with her her aunt and uncle.

Sighing, she handed another pamphlet to someone passing the women's center. Michela was technically supposed to be at her internship today. However, when Francine had collapsed the other day in the middle of a group meeting, she called out so she could be around to keep an eye on the other woman and save her son from being pulled out of class to pick her up. It was likely that if she kept this up she'd be dismissed from her internship, but she found herself even more apathetic about that possibility than she'd ever been before. If she was let go, she was let go. Life as a glorified coffee fetcher for people she barely tolerated was beyond old at this point.

And maybe an actual position with pay at the women's center was in her future. After all, multiple staff members had been dropping hints about it, so that could really be a thing. No more catching Central City trains or getting caught up in Flash related catastrophe's there. She'd be able to just keep to the safety of Keystone.

All of it sounded too good to be true, but she was going to take it and run with it for as long as life would let her.

Her phone buzzed with a text notification, distracting her from her thoughts. She made sure the next group of people walking by had pamphlets before taking a step back and pulling it out to see who messaged her. It almost hurt how hard her eyes rolled when she noticed the name listed. Of course, only when both of her guest rooms were occupied by semi-permanent roommates would her obnoxious ex text after months of no contact about crashing at her place for a couple days.

 _-That's a no go-  
_ _-You'd have to take the couch-  
_ _-We both know how you feel about the couch-_ she tapped out with some force.

 _-Why are you being stingy?-  
_ _-We both know you have plenty of rooms.-_

 _-That are being used-_

 _-As what? Dayrooms?-  
_ _-Or maybe for the cats you've been amassing now that you've embraced your fate as a cat lady-_

Eyes narrowed, her fingers flew across her phone screen.

 _-For people, you dick-  
_ _-I have actual roommates now-_

 _-I'll believe that when I see it-_

 _-Stop inviting yourself over-_

 _-Then invite me yourself so I don't have to-_

 _-It doesn't work that way-  
_ _-Seriously Hart, now's not a good time-  
_ _-Don't come to my apartment-_

When there was no response, Michela let out a low, disgruntled noise. The urge to throw her phone into oncoming traffic was peaking. Fighting it down, she closed the conversation window with her ex and opened up the one for Bette.

 _-Hey, so it looks like an old acquaintance of mine might be dropping by sometime-  
_ _-Also, he's possibly the most infuriating person I've ever met-  
_ _-So if you or Tony kill him, I forgive you-_

Sighing, she turned her phone off and tucked it back into her pocket. Her roommate would probably text back at some point to ask what kind of food her ex liked because of course she'd want to be a perfect hostess for one of the least deserving people ever. In comparison, Tony was starting to show actual progress after a couple weeks of both her and Bette working on him. He was actually starting to pitch in with chores without being asked, and was looking into some of those online courses she'd been pushing him to try (though boredom was likely a motivator there). There was still griping and bickering with him, but at least he wasn't deliberately baiting them anymore.

Tony was putting some serious distance between himself and her shitlist. Not that he'd ever really been on it in the first place. Being held against his will in an illegal prison, deserving or not, gave him a lot of leeway. Maybe not leave to be a sexist prick or to inflict violence on Mr. Red, but she would always give him the chance to change even when Bette and anyone else said she shouldn't. And despite the worry he'd just disappoint her, his stumbling, tentative steps in the right direction were giving her hope that maybe he would.

Another sigh worked its way out. God, was she getting sentimental over her roommates, or what? Her aunt and uncle used to tease her back when she was young about how often she'd take in animals from off the street, if only to briefly house them before taking them to a shelter because she didn't actually want to keep them. How they'd laugh if they ever knew that the habit had evolved into a human one.

They could never know, she decided. It was bad enough that they knew she'd taken in the redhead the way she had. If they also found out about the metal man or her other speedy frequent visitor, there'd be plenty of material to last them for years of teasing.

* * *

Distractedly, Michela waved at Francine and her son as they left together, gathering her own things in order to head out from the women's center at the end of the day. It was with worry that she noted that Bette had never texted her back. That was really unlike her; she was always excited to receive and send back texts. And especially considering the content of her texts to her roommate, that should have gotten immediate responses out of the other woman. Instead, all she saw were unread texts and unheard messages from her internship, that would continue to go ignored.

With a bad feeling swirling in her gut, she finally made her way out and to her car so she could drive home. Her worry started providing her with all sorts of awful potential scenarios. Maybe the Green Arrow had made a visit again. Or Mr. Red had called the redhead away to help with something in Central. Or something was just really wrong and both of her roommates were in trouble.

It wasn't until she was finally through her door, locking it behind her, and taking in the sight of both her roommates sitting on the couch together that the feeling began to abate. Though, it started to rise once more at the lack of a happy greeting when she walked over. Both of them were tensed where they sat. Tony was looking at Bette, Bette was staring hard at the television that was turned off. From that alone, the brunette could begin to make some assumptions.

"Something happened to Mr. Red," she guessed.

"Sort of," the redhead answered flatly.

Wincing, she pushed on, asking, "How bad?"

"Bad, but he's fine."

The ex-bomb specialist didn't elaborate further, and Michela didn't exactly know what further questions to ask. Let alone whether she wanted them answered. But apparently, she wasn't the only one with questions.

A frown on his face, the man sitting next to redhead said lowly, "You're not telling her."

"Tony!" was hissed back at him.

"Telling me what?"

"It's complicated," Bette finally spoke, tugging at her gloves.

"Complicated how?" She took in the way the redhead's shoulders hunched in. "If you think it's something I don't have to know, you don't have to tell me. I can live with secrets. I've kept you two living with me this long without the cops or the army beating down my door yet, haven't I?"

That was supposed to make them relax, but if anything, all it did was make the woman hunch in on herself more and the metal man's frown deeper.

"If it's what you said you thought it was, you should tell her," Tony insisted, leaning towards her intently.

"Hey, hey," the brunette cut in, bringing her hands up in a gesture to settle down, "She doesn't have to tell me anything!"

"It's-" The other woman made a frustrated sound, covering half her face with her hand for a moment before letting it fall away. "I don't know how to say it. Maybe it's better to just show you."

And then she clicked the television on.

Light and color flickered across the screen, displaying a news report from WKEY-TV. The news anchor was speaking, but there was no audio to accompany her moving lips. There was a banner running along the bottom, and she picked out words like "The Flash, "Real," and "Criminals Apprehended." After a minute or so more of that, and then camera footage was being displayed. Immediately, she picked out Mr. Red, a blur of red and gold lightning. And there were two other figures, firing beams of bright blue and fiery orange at him. The blue beam she immediately pegged as the ice gun psycho who'd almost killed both her and Mr. Red that day they'd first met almost three months ago. She winced when she saw those beams catch the superhero now and then, and send him hurtling into unforgiving pavement or smashing into the side of a car.

However, her heart stuttered to a stop when the footage shifted from the battle to the criminals being taken into custody.

Under the stupid parka and goggles, Ice Gun Psycho looked more than a little familiar, and so did his flame wielding partner when the camera panned out to include the violently swearing man in the frame.

There was a call of her name somewhere far away, but she couldn't react to it. All attention was hyper-focused on the screen. On the faces of the men who had hurt her friend. Men who had put all of those police officers in the hospital. The news kept saying their names were Leonard Snart and Mick Rory. But that was wrong. Those weren't their names. Not the names she knew them by.

But who better than her understood that the name someone used wasn't necessarily the name they were known for?

Her view of the screen was obstructed when someone stepped into her line of sight. She lifted her head to stare back into slate blue eyes set into the worried face of her roommate. Looking away, her gaze fell on Tony hanging back, watching them carefully. Watching her. Like she was something new, something different than she'd been just that morning at breakfast. Glancing down, she took in the fine tremor in her hands.

"Michela?" someone called again.

"I-" Her gaze bounced between both of her roommates. "I can't- Do this. I can't do this right now."

She turned on her heel and made for the door.

"Michela, wait!"

Bette had to stumbled back when the brunette rounded on her, arms up and fingers buried in her hair.

"Just-!" she near shouted before cutting herself off, "Not now. I can't do this. Just let me go."

And thankfully, the other woman made no moves to say or do anything else to keep her there. She even stepped back to stand next to Tony, who had crossed his arms over his chest. Unable to think of a single reassuring thing to say, all the Michela could do was nod as her arms slipped back to her sides and finally leave.

.

Her finger hovered over the call button. The glare cast over the screen of her phone by the harsh waiting room lights made the ID of the contact pulled up impossible to read. But she knew exactly who it was she was about to call. Numbly, she let the finger drop and then brought the phone to her ear. It rang and kept ringing.

" _Looks like you missed me,"_ came the teasing voice when it went to voicemail, " _Leave me a message and I'll get back to you as fast as I can."_

"This is probably a little self-centered of me, considering the day you've had, but uh," Michela began, fighting her throat closing involuntarily on her, "My day just took a nosedive. I've said before that there's stuff in my background that's kind of questionable. And I always thought I knew exactly what secrets I was trying to keep from the world. But I guess I was wrong; I get it wrong sometimes. Shocking, right? I thought it couldn't get worse, but it did. Things can always get worse, I guess. Sometimes you find things out that you never wanted to find out. Things about people you thought you knew."

A beep interrupted her. She took a moment to pull the phone away and look. The caller ID read "Alisa." After a couple seconds of staring at it, she put her finger to the screen and slid from right to left until the "Call Ignored" sign flashed. Then she brought the phone back up and continued speaking.

"Everything is so messed up, and I don't know what's going to happen anymore. I have a lot to tell you, but I don't know how to say it yet. I just want to say now that- that I didn't know. I hope you believe that. And that I'm sorry."

She let the time run out on the voice message and let the recording save and send. It could've been minutes, it could've been another hour that she remained in that uncomfortable chair she was sat in. Her eyes kept trailing down the hall that led to the Burn Center of Central City Hospital where CCPD officers were still being treated for extreme burns.

Even now, she couldn't bring herself to ease their pain. But that didn't stop her from hurting herself anyway.

* * *

 **AN:** Everyone do me a favor - look up "Rory Calhoun DC" for me. Also, hello! I've missed you all. It's been a rough month back at school, but I have something to share: I got to meet Rick Cosnett (Eddie Thawne) and Brandon Routh (Ray Palmer "The Atom") at a convention. They are actually the sweetest men, with the softest hugs known to humanity.

 **AN2:** Edit 9-20-16, the last couple lines weren't reading right to me so I changed them.


	11. Chapter 11: Letters to the Past

**Chapter Eleven:** Letters to the Past

* * *

It was quick drive from the hospital to the care facility. Doreen gaped as she blew past her desk. When Morgan caught sight of Michela, her lips pulled in a sneer. She grunted in annoyance when the woman rolled her wheeled chair right into her path.

"So, she lives. We almost thought you got caught up in another one of those awful train crashes, again. Or maybe you had another migraine." Even seated, her most hated coworker still found a way to look down her nose at her. "But I guess not."

Lack of sleep and her original intention for coming there left her at just the right level of no longer giving a shit. She planted a foot on the leg of the other woman's chair and pushed her out of the way. Ignoring her calls to come back and explain herself, she went straight to Linda's office.

"Michela?" Her supervisor stared at her, just as shocked to see her as Doreen had been. "You're here. Are you all right?"

"Probably not," the brunette answered, ignoring the non verbal suggestion made for her to sit in the other chair, "Sorry for not giving you two weeks notice, but I quit."

"Honestly, I considered the the last two weeks of you showing up late or not at all as your notice." The other woman sighed. "It was pretty easy to see you didn't like working here from almost the very start. I'm just surprised it took you this long to quit. For awhile, I almost thought you were going to try and stick it out." She leaned forward. "What finally did it?"

"Personal issues," was all she could say.

"I thought you'd say Morgan. She's the reason most interns want to quit."

"Oh, I've been tempted on account of her, but I uh," the young woman hesitated, "I just don't think I should be working in Central City anymore."

"I get it. It's the stuff with the train crash and the Flash, right?" Linda seemed to take the flinch at her words as confirmation and kept going. "A lot of people have been trying to leave Central City because of how dangerous it's been getting, and I don't blame you. You've been off ever since the night of the crash."

Michela remained dead silent.

"I'm not going to pretend to know what it did to you, but something changed. I'm hoping that your decision to stay out of Central will do you some good."

"Yeah, me too." She turned to leave but paused at the door. "Thanks Linda."

"Good luck, Michela. Take care of yourself."

She ignored Morgan and Doreen as she marched back out the front door without a backward glance.

.

When she got back to the apartment, she found Bette asleep on the couch and Tony at the table eating cereal. He side eyed her as he took another spoonful.

"She tried to wait up for you," he told her, nodding his head in the direction of the couch.

"She didn't have to."

The brunette dropped her jacket and purse at the coat rack near the door and went into the kitchen to grab a bowl and a spoon. She joined him at the table, pulling the box of cereal and the jug of milk to herself. Soon, they were sitting there together eating cereal and not breaking the less than comfortable silence that settled around them.

At least until he spoke.

"What are you so angry about?"

Her eyes drifted up from the milk and flakes to meet his own.

"Why would I be angry?"

"Maybe 'cause your precious Flash got his ass kicked. Or that it was your uncle was doing it and now he's going to prison. Or maybe it's something else. You've got a lot of reasons." His gaze dragged across her face. "But I know angry when I see it, and I see it."

A sarcastic comment was on the tip of her tongue. But for once, she didn't feel like playing the snarky smartass she usually was. She felt too tired for games. Too old for it. She'd always been too old for pretend and make believe and hide-and-seek, but she tried anyway.

"Me," Michela finally said, "I'm angry at me." When he didn't say anything else, encouraging or otherwise, she plowed on. "I'm angry that I'm surprised. Nothing ever stays good, and I don't know why I thought differently."

"I'd say smash some shit, but you two usually don't care about my input."

"I'm open to any suggestions right now. Even bad ones."

"Rude," he grunted at her through a mouthful of cereal.

"Are you seri- Have you taken a good look at yourself in the mirror lately?"

"In the bathroom, every time I need to go-"

"You finish that sentence," she hissed with a razor sharp glare, "And I swear I will-"

"-brush my teeth," he still finished with a shit-eating grin.

Her hands came up to rest on her temples.

"After the night I had, I'm not having the kind of morning where I can deal with you without serious thoughts of poisoning your breakfast." She stood and then picked up her bowl. "I'm gonna finish this in my room, I'm gonna sleep a bit, and we're both gonna pretend I won this conversation when I'm awake again."

As she went, she could hear the grin that hadn't gone away yet in his voice as he called out a, "Yes, boss!" from behind her.

"Smartass," she mumbled, as she let herself into her room.

It was a slow trudge through the rest of her soggy mush cereal, but she forced it down. Once she had, she set the bowl on the nightstand next to her bed and settled down. She was on her side, her legs drawn up close, an arm curled around her stomach, and the other arm tucked under her head and pillow. For a moment, she thought about her phone and how she hadn't plugged it in when she'd gotten back. It was long dead after the barrage of texts and calls she'd ignored.

Considering there wasn't a single soul out there Michela wanted to talk right now, she was pretty okay with her phone staying dead a little while longer.

* * *

Waking up after that was strange. But she only allowed herself a groggy moment of denial that first time and then not again anytime after in the week or so that passed. There wasn't enough energy in her to hold onto denial for long. Thankfully, she no longer had to spend any of her time at her old internship anymore. All the energy she did have was dedicated to unsuccessfully reassuring Bette she was fine, ignoring the texts and missed calls alerts that were creeping from double into triple digits, and spending time at the women's center where she had just been hired on as a paid intern. That first day she'd gone into the center after everything, Francine had taken one look at her face and asked if someone in her family had passed.

Michela had been sorely tempted to say 'yes.' Instead, she'd just asked the other woman about how her son was doing. Thankfully the change in topic had been let go with a long and meaningful concerned glance before Francine segued into talking about how her boy's mechanical engineering degree was going.

Honestly, she was shocked no one had sprung a surprise visit on her by this point. Her aunt would have been the first one she expected. Mr. Red right after, especially after that cringe worthy angst message she only half remembered leaving him. Maybe her ex next, because he was that much of a dick that he'd drop in uninvited just to ruin her day. It was a blessing it hadn't happened yet.

Of course, just as she'd fooled herself into thinking people were leaving her alone for once, she had be to proven wrong.

Jinna had just told her to take a break, with the strict instructions that she had to physically leave the building for a whole hour and not bring any work with her. With a scowl, she'd grabbed her coat and her purse, trudged out the front door, and ducked into the cafe right next door. The smell of coffee was heavenly, and only served to make her grumpier because today wasn't one of her health approved coffee days. So all she ordered was a sandwich and water, and waited for it to be brought to her.

A man sliding into the booth on the same side of the table had her jumping and preparing to throw a punch like Bette had been coaching her on for awhile now. Said man jerked back, his arms flying up in a defensive 'don't hurt me' gesture. With a jolt, she realized his face was a very memorable one, even if she'd only seen it once.

"Mr. Red?"

"Michela!" He made an aborted move to shift forward, probably to hug her. With what seemed like great restraint, he sat back, his eyes sweeping carefully over her. "It's- you don't know how good it is to see you."

Somehow, he seemed even more shaken than he had the day he'd confronted the man who'd killed his mother, and that was saying something. Hell, he was staring at her like someone had died. If she hadn't been treated to that exact unwelcome question recently, she would have asked it herself. Remembering the message she'd left him once more had her wincing and turning away. This really wasn't the day she wanted to do this, but she guessed she'd put it off for long enough.

"Are you here about the message?"

"Message?" she heard him ask, confusion dripping from the word.

A glance at his face told her he had no clue what she was talking about.

"You know," she started to explain, mentally stuttering as she went, "The message I left after your fight with-" The words caught in her throat. "-with the fire and ice guys."

"Ah, yeah, that message," he said, and she could see it dawning on him.

"I know it was really melodramatic, I was just having a really bad night. And you're probably here to ask questions about what I meant and I swear I'll-" she found herself grinding to a halt when a hand dropped onto her shoulder that was closest to him.

"Hey." She reluctantly met his serious gaze. "I am probably going to have a ton of questions for you when we do talk about it. I don't have time to ask them now, but when the time comes just - give me a chance to listen, okay?"

"Okay," she answered hesitantly, "So if that's not what you wanted to talk about, what is?"

"I wanted to see you," Mr. Red blurted out. For a second, it looked like he was blinking moisture out of his eyes, but it was there and gone as a grimness settled into his expression and he went on, "I did want to see you, but I also need you to do something for me."

"Yeah?" Michela prompted, watching him carefully as he reached into his sweater pocket to pull out two envelops.

"I need you to hold onto these for me," he explained, holding them out to her, "Don't open them, just wait until you get a text telling you what to do with them. Do you think you'd be okay doing that?"

"You do realize I'm allergic to being nosy, right?" She offered him a weak grin. "I still don't know your name or who you are and it's not even my fault that I know what you look like. So really, I'm pretty sure I can resist the urge to take a peek."

"Of course, how could I forget about that allergy of yours," Mr. Red murmured, putting a hand over his mouth to stifle his chuckles.

"I must not be doing a good enough job reminding you if you could forget," she joked, but that joking air slipped away as his head shot up from his hands, his features pinched with something like agony, "Hey, hey, did I say something wrong? I know I can be terrible, but usually you don't react like that."

"No," he rushed to reassure her, "You didn't say anything wrong, it's just- me. Just a lot going on right now, and I don't have time to tell you about it." His expression smoothed out again. "Do you think you can do it?"

"Pretty sure I can." Cocking her head, she stared thoughtfully at him. "It's fine if you can't say more about it, but is there anything you do wanna tell me now?"

"Just that it's important," he told her with promise laced in his voice, "And depending on what happens today, it could save more than just one life."

"Got it," she said after a beat and then took the envelopes, tucking them securely into her purse, "Anything else?"

"It's uh, not really anything but can I - can I hug you?" he asked her softly, ducking his head a bit.

"You know, usually I'd exercise my right to say no, especially considering the fact you're asking permission for once," the short haired woman commented, peering up at him, "But something tells me that you really need this one so I'll make an exception."

He didn't say anything, just swallowed harshly and nodded. It was an awkward angle in the booth, but she managed to scoot forward enough as he leaned down. His arms wrapped firmly around her shoulders as her own arms slotted in just underneath to loop around him. Her head was tucked just underneath his chin, her face pressed to his chest and she could feel his quick pulse through the dark material of his t-shirt.

After another minute or so, she tapped his back. His arms tightened briefly, and then loosened up and fell to his sides. The glassiness of his eyes as he pulled away had her frowning even as she resolved not to bug him about it. Now wasn't the time. He'd tell her later if he wanted to.

"Talk later Mr. Red."

"Yeah." His gaze met hers. "You're one of my best friends Michela. I hope you know that."

Her mouth opened to say something, but she didn't have the words. His lips quirked up just the slightest as he shook his head to stop her from trying. He then turned and went for the exit of the cafe. Between crossing the doorway and stepping out onto the concrete pavement, he disappeared from sight. She stared long and hard at the space he'd only just been occupying.

"What the hell was that?" she muttered to herself as she dragged a hand down her face and leant back into the booth.

.

Getting distracted at work just seemed to a part of life nowadays. Mr. Red was absolutely to blame. Those envelopes sat in her purse like lead. She had no desire to crack them open, but she really didn't want them on her person any longer than necessary. Something about how the man had been acting as they talked set off screeching warning bells in her head. Hell if she knew what had him like that, all she did know was that it was bad.

Bad for him was the normal person equivalent of everything upside down and on fire.

(Not that Michela knew what normal was anymore, that ship had long since set sail.)

She had already gotten home by the time she heard from him, and had opted out of letting Bette know what was going on. The memory of how he looked and everything else left her feeling uncomfortable thinking about him, let alone talking about him. Just as she was going to stash the envelopes somewhere in her room where no one would think to snoop (like in the false bottom of her trash can), her phone notifications pinged twice. Turning it on, the messages displayed:

 _-Destroy the first envelope-  
_ _-Read the second-_

Looking at the two envelopes still held in her other hand, she nodded to herself and headed for the kitchen. Both Bette and Tony's eyes followed her as she passed through the living room into the kitchen. With a sardonic quirk of the lips, she stood in front of the stove and turned one of the burners on. The flame that danced along it was bright but in no way appealing enough to stick her hand through. She never really understood the obsession _he_ had with it. Fire was useful, that was all. Why get hurt over it?

Snorting, she looked at the envelope with the number one scrawled on it over for a moment and then tossed it onto the flame burner. She only stared long enough to watch the edges blacken and curl as the stove fire licked at them. Then she was turning the second one over in her hands absently. Letting it face the same fate as the first was tempting. But Mr. Red had said people could be saved if she did what he said. Not doing it might be the same as letting someone die, and as much as she liked to avoid trouble, she wasn't about letting it find other people.

With a sigh, she pushed a finger under the flap of the envelope and forced it open. A small folded piece of paper shook out, so she unfolded the paper and read.

 _No matter what you're told, stay away from Harrison Wells._

Was that it? Really? It only took a second longer for the realization to hit. The message was for her. When he said that the envelopes could save lives, he was talking about her. Her life was in danger, and Harrison Wells was somehow to blame.

Michela dove for her phone.

" _Hey, what's up, I-?_ " she heard Mr. Red start to exclaim from the other end once the call connected.

"I know you said you were busy earlier, but is now a good time to talk?"

" _Yeah, it's fine, but I - Earlier?_ " he asked, confusion heavy in his voice, " _What do you mean by earlier?_ "

"At the cafe this morning," she answered.

" _I haven't talked to you at all today,_ " he told her slowly, " _I haven't talked to you in weeks._ "

A chill crept over her.

"Then who did I talk to today?"

" _Oh boy,_ " he exhaled shakily through the line.

* * *

 **AN:** If anyone gets the joke in the last line, I swear, I'll love you forever. For anyone who is kind of lost about what is going on with this chapter, it follows S1E11 "Sound and the Fury" _and_ S2E17 "Flash Back." (hint-wink)

 **AN2:** Also, someone asked what Michela looks like. Truthfully, I'm not completely sure. I always see short dark hair, strong jaw, stout frame, and impeccable eyebrows. Gina Carano comes close, if she was a little less fit maybe?


	12. Chapter 12: Welcome to the Madhouse

**Chapter Twelve:** Welcome to the Madhouse

* * *

Almost half an hour later, she was sat across from the man in the red suit on the rooftop, listening to his explanation.

"Okay. Okay." Michela took a deep breath. And then another. "Wait _no_ , what the actual hell, Mr. Red?"

"I told you you'd think it was crazy!" he exclaimed as he hopped up from where he was sitting and began to pace, "I barely believe it myself and I actually met future me. Do you know how weird that was?"

"I'm sure," the woman drawled, "How can someone run fast enough to go back in time? That's just, no."

"Wait a second." He stopped in front of her and squatted so that his disbelieving expression was at eye level. "Out of all of that, you have a problem with me being able to run fast enough to travel through time?"

"It would be stupid to assume there couldn't be a metahuman who could time travel." She crossed her arms, scrunching her nose. "But you?"

"Why is it so hard to believe I could be that metahuman? It's not that ridiculous," he pouted at her, before he sobered up a second after, "And obviously I can or will at some point."

An uneasy silence fell over them for a moment, the man looking to the envelope clutched tightly in his hand. She pursed her lips when she glanced at it.

"So I guess we've gotten to the bit where future you heavily implied I'm going to die?"

"You're not going to die," Mr. Red insisted in a rush, letting himself shift from squatting to kneeling before her, grasping her upper arms gently, "You're not."

"Yeah, I'd rather that not happen, too," she said with a nod, "So you can bet I'm staying as far away from Harrison Wells as I can."

The man grimaced. When she'd explained what the other him had told her and showed him the message, all of the blood had drained out of his face. They'd been dancing around what the warning concerning a certain disgraced scientist meant. It was still baffling that the man could have a hand in her supposed death, but she wouldn't be taking her chances. He'd already messed with so many lives, maybe it wasn't that much of a leap.

"Hey," she started up again, settling her fidgeting hands in her lap, "Future you said something else."

"Yeah?" he prompted.

"To give you a chance, to tell you what that message I left you a couple weeks ago was about."

His features pinched with worry as he was quick to say, "You know you don't have to if you don't want to."

A wobbly smile touched her lips as a tightness pulled within her chest.

"You sound like me," she observed, trying to keep her tone light, "And maybe I don't want to, but I should. I think if future you hadn't said something, I might have taken the out you just gave me and done something I would have regretted."

"Like what?" Mr. Red asked, his voice tentative.

She glanced away before saying, "Like shut you out."

"Shut me out?" He looked bewildered. And just a bit hurt.

"I've told you before. I don't do friends. People get close and then I remember how much I can't tell them." She broke eye contact with him to look down at her hands. "So I shut them out so that I don't have to."

"Is that what you want to do to me?"

"I don't know. But I'm so tired of thinking that everyone will leave. It still hurts even when I do it to them first." Michela forced her head back up so she could meet his patient gaze once more. "If I die, I don't want that to be how I leave things."

Almost as if he was using his superspeed, he reeled her in for a fast, tight hug.

"I don't want that for you either," he told her, his words muffled in her hair, "And you're not going to die."

"So you keep saying." She smiled into his shoulder before sighing. "In the spirit of not losing my nerve, you ready for me to tell you?"

"I guess?" he answered, before pulling back and snatching one of her hands up in one of his, "Just, whatever it is, it's not gonna send me running. I'll still be here."

"Okay. Okay then." The short haired woman took a fortifying breath and squeezed his hand. "My dad's Mick Rory."

"Mick Rory?" Mr. Red echoed oddly, his facial features slack with shock, "As in, Heatwave - the guy I just fought - Mick Rory? For real?"

"For real. I always thought my mom was the undisputed winner of the worst parent of the year award, but finding out from the news that I never even knew who my dad really was puts him back in the running." With a hollow chuckle, she turned her head up to the sky. "Can you believe that I actually legally changed my last name to match his, and it wasn't even his real name?"

"Michela…"

"I still care about the jerk, though. He's a terrible father, but he's mine."

"Oh god, I sent your dad to prison," she heard him murmur, his voice soft with horror which drew her gaze back to his face.

"Hey, don't be sorry for stopping the bad guys. Even if the bad guys turned out to be my family."

That got a grimace in response.

"How can you not hate me?" He stared at her helplessly. "I - I sent your dad to prison."

"Any of those cops could have shot him dead and been within their rights to do it. Prison is better than dead." It was a struggle to keep looking right at him, but she pressed on. "How can you stand to talk to me when you know who my dad is?"

"I told you." The guilt in his expression gave way to resolve. "Heatwave being your dad doesn't change anything. I'm here."

The urge to doubt was there but she swallowed it down and instead said, "Thank you." A beat passed. "If you have more questions I'll answer them later, but for now I think I need food and a change of topic. Anything other than my dad or time travel."

"How about I grab some Big Belly Burger and you tell me how your internship has been?" he offered.

"Sounds good," the brunette responded, a lot of the night's tension finally starting ease away and shoved some cash at him with a huffed laugh, "I have to catch you up on a lot of stuff."

"Looking forward to hearing about it." He took the money as he went to stand. "I'll be back!"

Once he was gone in one of his signature whooshes, she sat there underneath the night sky and her heavy thoughts, as she waited on him and the food.

* * *

Slowly but surely, Mr. Red settled back into the places in Michela's life she'd been starting to cut him out of. It was a little surreal, catching up on new jobs and numbers from cute girls with his future self's warning as well as the truth about her father looming over them. She wondered if she was insane for still wanting to invite his crazy back into her life and apartment. Then again, she couldn't completely blame the business with her father and uncle. That would have been bound to blow up in her face with or without the superhero's influence.

Texts and phone calls kept flooding in from her aunt, but she kept ignoring them. There was no pretending that the other woman hadn't been in on everything, she was too close with Uncle Allen - Uncle Leonard? Uncle _Cold?_ \- for her to be ignorant. The younger woman had always prided herself on not being nosy about her family's business, but this was bigger and more complicated than anything could have suspected they were keeping from her. It had been weeks and she still didn't quite know what her emotions were doing concerning all of that. Unless someone decided to ambush her at home or work, she'd be content to continue avoiding them for as long as she could get away with it.

Though, the thought of them catching the superhero while he was visiting was a nightmare inducing. If a battle broke out, her apartment was definitely not surviving that.

Bette, at least, had eased off her hovering now that she and the speedster were talking again. Michela still had no idea how to convince the redhead she was not personally responsible for fixing her issues for her. It was hard to tell if that was a lost cause considering the other woman's overprotective nature.

A text pulled her from that train of thought.

 _-Can i ask u 4 sumthin-_ she read at a glance.

 _-Whatever it is, no-_ she typed back without looking away from the donated clothes she was digging through and sorting.

 _-No rly-_

 _-You no really-  
_ _-It's a bad sign when you actually ask-  
_ _-Last time you asked for help, I found out I was gonna die-_

 _-You-  
_ _-Will-  
_ _-Not-  
_ _-Die-  
_ _-And future me things dont count-_

 _-Says you-_

 _-NEway-  
_ _-Its about the prison-_

Michela had to stop sorting and take a long breath through her nose before she was composed enough to hit the "Call" button. Half of a ringtone played out before the call connected.

" _Hey!"_

"It's probably too much to hope that you're gonna tell me the prison's been magically blown up," she grumbled out, "So what's up with it?"

" _We sort of, kind of have new prisoners who don't deserve to be there?"_ he answered her, his voice going a bit high at the end.

"Uh-huh," came her deadpan.

" _I tried to talk to the others about letting them go, or at least improving the Pipeline conditions, but-"_

"I don't need the reasons," she cut him off with a sigh, "I know it's probably not your fault and I don't need to hear things that will end in me throwing my phone across the room. Just tell me what you wanted so we can fix the situation."

" _I- Thank you. I'm gonna try and stage an escape for them, and hopefully get out of Central City."_

A swell of pride overtook her at that even as she gave an exasperated chuckle.

"By out of Central City, do you mean by way of Keystone?"

" _I'm not asking you to take them in like you did with Bette and Tony,"_ he was quick to reassure her as, " _But I do want to give them your contact information, if you're okay with it? I just think having someone like you to talk to might help them."_

"You could always tell them to look up my facebook," she suggested wryly as her smile morphed into a smirk.

Through choked laughter, Mr. Red huffed out, " _I am_ not _telling them to look up your facebook. I can't believe you told me that the first time we met._ "

"To be fair, I was delirious with pain and it wasn't like I could write my number on your glove or something with the pen I didn't have. I improvised," Michela sniffed.

" _So does that mean you're okay with me giving them a way to get in contact with you?_ "

"Yeah, sure, that's fine." Wedging the phone between her shoulder and ear, she resumed her work with the clothes. "You sure it's still a no on facebook, though? We could make a secret group for all of us. Call it 'The Metahuman League' and everything."

The woman could hear him sigh hard and visualized him putting his face in his hand, which had her trying to stifle her snickers.

" _No Michela,_ " he finally responded, " _Just no._ "

"Fine, fine. Just make sure they get out safely, okay? And if you think they might need a bug out bag just in case, let me know so you can swing by and pick up an extra one from the apartment," she told him as she tossed a coat into the winter wear bin.

" _You having bug out bags should worry me, but all things considered, it's probably good thing you do._ "

She nodded to herself at that. It used to be that she only had one for herself at her uncle's insistence. The week Bette had moved in, she'd put together another and repeated the process for Tony when he showed up. Some days she wondered about making one up for Mr. Red, but usually got caught up with what his would actually contain. What did a superhero like him need in a bug out bag? Did he even need one?

"Anyway," she said, taking her phone back in hand, "I'm at work, and I think I need to get going before I get scolded by someone."

" _Oh, yeah, sorry, I'll let you get back to work. Thanks again Michela._ "

"Talk later Mr. Red. Bye."

" _Bye._ "

Then he hung up. Tucking her phone away, she caught Francine shooting her an amused look. Biting her lip, she threw an apologetic smile over her shoulder and got back to what she was supposed to be doing.

* * *

It was a typical lazy evening in lounging on the couches with Bette and Tony after dinner when all three of them heard the sound of someone knocking at the door. Each of her roommates went on high alert, gazes darting to the door then to her. Michela's stomach churned at the thought of who it was. There was a short list of people who would come to her place that weren't already present. Mr. Red was already out because after a stern reminder the last time he forgot, he knew that he was always supposed to text first before he came over. Anyone else wasn't particularly welcome at the moment.

"You don't have to stick around for whatever this is," she reassured them hurriedly as she stood to face the door, "I'll take care of it."

There was an instant defiant flare in the redhead woman's expression. However, it was the man who spoke up first.

"I'm good," he told her, throwing an arm over the back of the couch and lounging exaggeratedly across.

Her other roommate decided to follow his lead, silently lifting her chin as she tucked herself further into the corner of the opposite couch they'd just been sharing. She found herself caught between rolling her eyes and smiling.

"If you change your minds, I promise to only judge you a little when you ditch."

She heard the knock come again as well as muffled voices through the door. However, when she put her eye to the peephole, she didn't recognize the person on the other side. The woman with short, bushy hair pulled back into a ponytail was arguing with someone just out of line of sight. Michela stepped back with a frown. Salespeople? Jehova's Witnesses? Just as she prepared to crack the door to demand why they had come so late, two consecutive whooshes sounded behind her, and then she heard a pair of shouts from down the hall.

Heading in that direction, she saw two more people in her apartment than there had originally been. The ex bomb specialist and metal metahuman were both staring at the newcomers with wide eyes, bodies tensed and ready to act.

"Will wonders never cease," an annoyingly familiar voice lilted from the man with his back to her standing next to the woman who just been on the other side of the door, "The roommates are real, and nary a cat to behold."

The tension headache that had begun at the knocking ramped up at those words. She knew exactly who that was.

"Hart," she growled at him through clenched teeth as she walked to where they could be face to face, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Michela, so good to see you," Hartley Rathaway demurred, intent eyes peering at her from under the bill of the cap he was wearing, "Interesting that you're not even commenting on how my companion and I just appeared in your apartment."

"It's not hard to guess the how. So again, I'm asking you, what are you doing here?" she demanded, continuing to move so that she was standing between her ex and Bette and Tony.

His expression seemed to harden. He reached into his pocket to pull out a scrap of paper that he then held out to her. Narrowing her eyes at him, she reached out to take it. Turning it over in her hand, she saw her own phone number written there. Her gaze snapped to his.

"I'd love to hear the story behind why the Flash gave us _your number_ and said to call if we wanted to talk to another metahuman." The smile on his face didn't reach his eyes. "That's sure to be even more interesting."

* * *

 **AN:** A little shorter and dialogue heavy, but yay for the update. Just in time for S3 mid break season. Sorry it's been a while, school, work, and some other writing projects got the best of me. I'll be on break from school and work soon, so hopefully I'll have more time for writing then.

Alternative Chapter Titles: "It's a Small World," "The Metahuman League," "1-800-Metahuman Hotline"


	13. Chapter 13: Regular Inconveniences

**Chapter Thirteen:** Regular Inconveniences

* * *

It wasn't so much that the past had come back to haunt her as it was making its extremely inconvenient regularly scheduled visits. If it wasn't one set of family or another or a certain superhero, it was her ex making her regret not moving somewhere inconvenient enough to discourage the visits. Like Charm City. Or Iceland. They always told her she was being melodramatic when she threatened it. Considering the fact that the aforementioned ex had decided to drop in on her unannounced in the middle of the night via teleportation, Michela felt one hundred percent vindicated.

"Not really." She forced the vice grip on her entire body to release as she looked him right in the eye and rolled her shoulders in a shrug. "The Flash saved my life once and found out I was a metahuman. He decided to keep in touch just in case. Not much else to it."

That was a gross oversimplification at best if not an outright lie at worst, but that was all she was giving him concerning her friend. Hart may not have been at the head of the list of people she did not want knowing about her relationship with Mr. Red, but he at least rated in the top ten. She'd been winning their game of oneupmanship for a while now, holding the position of the gracious one while he still had been jobless and at odds with his parents. It wouldn't do to give him something to flip the tables. He wasn't the type to waste good blackmail opportunities, vicious shit that he was.

Narrowed eyes darted from her to her roommates and back, and then the man in glasses asked, "I disagree. How long have you known you were a metahuman? What can you do?"

If it wouldn't have given her away, she could have sighed in relief at him choosing that to focus on.

"She doesn't have to answer your questions," she heard Bette growl from behind her, and had to will away her wince.

"Why don't the kids stay quiet while the adults talk?" Hart sniped as his gaze flitted to the redhead.

At his side, his companion rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms. Michela hated that she agreed with him internally, praying her roommates would quit drawing attention to themselves before either of them was recognized. To her silent despair, they didn't back down.

"Or we could just toss you out off the fire escape. Call it a day, huh Boss?" Tony joked to her, his voice sounding like thinly veiled violence behind his huge grin.

Bette's lack of reprimand spoke for her. If the metalman didn't do it himself, she probably would.

"Aggressive, aren't they? More like hired thugs than roommates," her ex chuckled, low and snide, "Considering who raised you, maybe that isn't a surprise."

This time there was no stopping the flinch when his words hit home, and out of the corner of her eye Bette bristled. The emphasis was not lost on them at all, he _knew_. Maybe not about Mr. Red, but was this any better? He was the only person she'd ever introduced to her family back then. Their faces had been all over the news after the fight with the Flash in December and the subsequent escape of imprisonment. She still saw the occasional wanted notices in the papers or on walls even now. So of course he knew. If anyone could have made the connection, it was him and he was going to make her pay for it.

Letting her eyelids drop shut, she drew in a clipped breath and then spoke, "Just ask for something or get out Hartley. I'm not in the mood to do this with you."

Silence hung between them for a long couple moments. Her eyes remained closed as she waited for him to say something. Michela was ready, whatever it was that came out of his mouth.

"We needed a place to stay for a night before we moved on, but I can see now that you're at capacity and I've worn out my welcome," she heard him say at last, the joking tone he was trying for unconvincing, "If you could at least find it in that shriveled heart of yours to let my companion stay for the night, I'll look for accommodations elsewhere."

"Don't be an idiot, Rathaway," said companion butted in, scowling at him, "And don't be a martyr either. If you go, I go. Our odds will be better if we stick together."

"Actually, it's the other way around, Baez. Tracking two people running in opposite directions is a lot harder."

Baez - it was nice to have a something to call the woman - rolled her eyes just as she opened her own.

"Unless the two people have degrees in engineering and medicine between the two of them, with hacking and teleporting thrown in. We have the makings of a pretty good team as long as you don't go doing anything stupid. Like running off on your own." For a moment, she expression was far away. Lost. "I'm not ready to be on my own."

And surprisingly, Hart's gaze seemed soften with understanding of whatever it was the woman meant.

"Okay then." He faced Michela again. "Since it appears we won't be staying, we'll show ourselves out."

That could have been the end of it. Just let them leave of their own volition and that would be two less issues she had to put up with. But she was getting good at the bad decision making thing, and maybe even starting to make peace with it. It had to be something like that, because when she called out a, "Wait," to the pair, she regretted it only half as much as she expected herself to.

Mr. Red was the absolute worst influence ever.

"What?" the other woman snapped.

"You can stay here for the night and we will figure out where you go from here in the morning. But you'll have to figure out which one of you will take a bed and which will take a couch," Michela offered, ignoring the sounds of protest she was hearing from her roommates.

"Dibs!" Baez shouted out, all previous irritation evaporating as she glanced at the man with glasses, "I haven't slept in a bed for almost a week so if you cheat me out of this, I will end you."

All Hart did in response was raise his hands in easy surrender, his expression bored but somehow indulgent. The short haired woman felt her head involuntarily tilt a couple degrees at the interaction between the two escapees. None of the typical protesting. That was interesting.

"Great. I'll get you two set up then." She gestured for her ex and the teleporter to follow her, shooting Bette and Tony a sheepish look as she went. "Either of you hungry? We have some leftovers and other stuff. You can pick through the fridge when we're done."

A quiet scoff of, "Leftovers," had her reminding herself that Hartley was very much still Hartley, regardless of one character break.

* * *

All things considered, Michela was a second away from slipping out the front door and driving to the opposite end of Kansas. Baez - or Shawna once she was properly introduced - was bedded down in her own room, leaving only the couches for herself and her other guest. So she was now laying there in the dark living room on her side, facing the back of the couch and pretending there wasn't another person in the room with her. It was hard when she was hyper aware of the sounds of breathing and fussy shifting that seemed so loud in the silence of the night. Knowing there was another person - one she didn't particularly want to be there - sharing her space kept pricking at her consciousness.

Just when she thought she was about to throw herself up and off the couch, she heard the other occupant of the room speak.

"The Flash wasn't what I was expecting."

After a moment of trying and failing to continue feigning sleep, she gave in and asked, "What'd you expect?"

"Dumb jock pretty boy," was shot back immediately, "Can't get anything done without someone smarter holding his hand. Gullible."

"And?"

"Well, I wasn't wrong about most of it. He is pretty. And dumb."

Under better circumstances, she might have let a snicker slip because that was so Hartley Rathaway it hurt. Instead, she kept thinking about how he'd just escaped the same hell hole Tony had been locked away in and it kept the amusement at bay. The so called Pipeline never failed to dampen her spirits at the drop of a hat.

"But?" she coaxed.

"But he's not as gullible as I expected. He doesn't trust Wells." The name came out as a snarl. "He wouldn't have let us go if he did."

Mr. Red had always thought her hate-on for Harrison Wells had stemmed solely from the aftermath of the Particle Accelerator explosion. And while a bulk of it was thanks to that incident, there was also the fact that the man had been the reason Hart had been forced to beg for her help more than a year ago. Somehow, the infamous scientist had managed to blackmail him out of his job and to this day he'd refused to tell her just what the other man had held over him. Things had only gotten worse after the explosion. For months, Hart couldn't do much of anything let alone resume job hunting with the extreme tinnitus - which she now realized might have been a metahuman ability disguised as a disability all along.

Michela knew a bit about developing a crap metahuman ability and not exactly wanting to play show and tell with it.

Sure, dealing with his lack of understanding about her TBI and the shitty ableist comments when they were younger over the years had hardly been fun. But she would never have wished a debilitating physical disability back on him, no matter how bad things ever got between them. She didn't need karma championing her like that; she could have settled with him working a retail job on Black Friday just to teach him some humility for once. But it had all worked out the way it had, and that had left them both a little more messed up and bitter than how they had started off.

Staring hard at the darkened couch back directly in front of her face, she told him absently, "I send him hate mail."

There was a long stretch of nothing and then came a huff.

"Who?" It seemed like he was trying not to laugh. "The Flash or Harrison Wells? Either way, I'm intrigued."

"The worst thing I've ever told the Flash was that his costume was stupid." And there - stifled some, but definitely there - was finally a laugh. "But it was mostly just hate mail to Dr. Dick."

"To be honest, I thought the costume was kind of hot. I told him so myself." She made a gagging noise as he chuckled, but eventually the chuckles died off. "I was going to try and kill him, you know."

"Who?" she returned, a chill spiking through her at what the confession implied, "The Flash or Harrison Wells?"

"Just killing Wells would have been too easy, I wanted him to suffer for what he'd done. Getting rid of his precious Flash seemed like the way to do it."

"That's kind of screwed up, Hart. Kind of a lot screwed up."

"Anymore screwed up than you buddying up with a superhero when your family is made up of his supervillains? You're a fantastic liar, Micks, but he gave up the game for you before you even knew you were playing it. The Flash actually seems pretty fond of you, lord knows why. You have the personality of a starved shrew." There was nothing to say to that, so she remained tight lipped as he pushed on. "Do you think that would change if he found out the truth? If someone let slip to him the company you keep? Just imagine imagine how he'd react."

And just like that, the shards of panic that had been crystallizing within her started to retreat. Of all of the things he could have threatened her with. A month ago, that would have been a threat, but now?

"God-" She started before it fell away into laughter edged with a bit of hysteria. Or was it the exhaustion? Who knew at this point. "Just shut up and go to sleep already."

"You aren't-?" he tried, sounding bewildered.

A snort ripped out of her.

"I don't care, just go to sleep. Maybe you'll wake up less of an asshole in the morning."

The quiet that descended on them this time was thick with his stunned annoyance. Funny how a speechless Hartley was always great for giving her a sense of peace. Between a breath in and a breath out, she drifted off.

* * *

As morning broke, Michela woke to Bette already up and puttering around in the kitchen. Hart was also up and watching a WKEY-TV report covering a break out and string of robberies in Keystone and other cities adjacent to Central City. It surprised her not at all that her other houseguest's face was attached to those news reports. That was the kind of company was she keeping these days, apparently. Every other person in her apartment at the moment had had their face plastered all over the television recently. She didn't have long to think on that once the food was ready. Everyone was moving to take a seat at the dining table, the last two occupants of her apartment finally rousing at the smell of food. Shawna was eyeing her as they all sat down to a bizarre breakfast together the next morning.

"So I heard you were his girlfriend?"

"Yeah," Michela answered as she moved some pancakes onto her plate and doused them in syrup, thanking her roommate a second after.

" _His_ girlfriend," the other woman repeated with emphasis, gesturing at Hart who was ruthlessly flirting with an increasingly irate looking Tony over a cup of coffee, "Him, Hartley Rathaway? The guy who was infamous for being publicly disowned by his parents for being gay?"

"I could say bisexuality is a thing, but yeah, Hart is one-hundred-and-ten percent into dudes."

"Seriously then, how did you two used to date?"

"I've wanted to know since I heard he was your ex," Bette chimed in as she put a plate of bacon and sausage down on the table in front of them, her brows furrowed, "It doesn't…"

"Make sense?" the teleporter mumbled around the mouthful of bacon she'd snatched up and stuffed into said mouth.

"Chew first, speak second," Michela chided and got rolled eyes in response, "It was high school. He wasn't out and I made a great target for bullying. It was a 'mutually beneficial arrangement,' as he put it back then."

"You were a beard? That sounds like a crummy high school romcom written by someone who doesn't remember what high school was actually like," Shawna scoffed, her eyebrows having crept up into her hair until they disappeared through the explanation

"And most high school romcoms usually have the people fake dating magically falling in love and ending up together," the other brunette woman deadpanned, gesturing at herself and the man they were discussing, "Do you really think that happened?"

"Point taken," the teleporter snickered.

"You'd think you'd have something better to do than talking about high school this early in the morning," Hart's voice drifted over to them, drawing her attention.

"Running into old high school acquaintances has a way of making you nostalgic."

"It's only nostalgia if you're talking about something you actually miss. You hated high school. I know. I was there."

Michela shot him a half hearted glare.

"Then we're commiserating. Toast if you hated high school," she called out to the entirety of the table, holding her glass of orange juice out.

Tony glanced up from his breakfast long enough to offer her a shrug while Bette shot her an apologetic look as she finally began to get food for herself. The metal man she could understand, since back in the day he'd been shoving Mr. Red into lockers and some people actually enjoyed that kind of thing. Maybe she could understand the ex-bomb specialist, too. If the redhead was as pretty, smart, and nice then as she was now, high school had probably been easy for her. Completely unlike Michaela who had always been just a bit too odd and peevish and spiteful when she was younger to endear herself to others.

Not that she'd been looking for anyone to be her friend back then, but there certainly wouldn't have been a line to audition for the role. Especially not at the snooty private schools her grandparents had insisted she attend where she already had her reputation as a bastard heir held against her. For all that he was an enormous pain in the ass then and now, she'd never stop being grateful for the bit of protection being affiliated with the Rathaway heir had given her then.

"Salutaria," said man interrupted her thoughts as his glass clinked against her own.

"Cheers," Shawna piped in before she could mock him for the pretentious Latin, her mug of coffee knocking into their drinks, "High school sucked."

At that, the table fell into something of a peaceful lull where the only sounds were that of eating, tapping at phones, or the news playing in the background. As she ate, Michela contemplated calling out from work. She really hated the idea of the people at the women's center thinking she was a flake like at her last job. It helped that they understood that she had an old brain injury that came with a side effect of really bad migraines that sometimes meant she had to call out. Though, they didn't know that she was now housing an additional set of volatile, superpowered fugitives and leaving them all together was the main point of concern at the moment. Somehow her apartment had weathered a room getting blown up, a vigilante break in, and her roommates' numerous spats.

Did she really want to test her luck now?

The decision was still tumbling around in her head as she rinsed the syrup off her plate when she heard the sound of knocking from the front door. She grabbed her phone and found no new messages from Mr. Red or anyone else announcing they were coming over. All eyes flew to her when she darted out into the dining room.

"Was anyone else supposed to be heading this way with you?" she demanded from her newer guests and got headshakes in return.

Frowning, she shared a look with Bette and Tony.

"What's going on?" Shawna asked, as the redhead stood without a word and started bringing dishes to the kitchen.

"It might be nothing, but just in case, all of you should be ready to hideout in the bedrooms if you need to."

When the knocking came again, Michela went to check the peephole. There was a casually dressed man with shoulder length dark hair and a professionally dressed woman with auburn hair. A hand on her wrist stopped her just short of reaching for the locks to start opening the door. It was Hart, his expression grim.

"They're from STAR Labs," he whispered, his words like a bucket of ice water upended over her head.

"How do you know?" she hissed back.

He tapped an ear. Superhearing, _right_.

"Shit. Okay. Tell them and then get hidden, all of you."

Nodding, he slipped over to Shawna and pulled her towards the rooms. She saw Tony trail after them, tension set in his large shoulders. Bette stopped at the end of the hall leading to the bedrooms, looking back at her with conflicted eyes. The brunette gave her what she hoped was an encouraging smile and gestured for her to follow the others. After a beat, she finally went.

Steeling herself with a deep breath, Michela set about undoing the locks and opening the door so she could face the STAR Labs scientists.

* * *

 **AN:** So I have not updated anything in over half a year. It's been an admittedly shit half a year. But here's to still being here, and finding a way to come back to writing. I hope all of you are doing okay, and doing better soon if you aren't.

Some small notes on this chapter: Charm City - does that sound familiar? It's from the new DCTV show "Powerless" which is fantastic, I love it. Also, Flash S3 - What the ever fluffing heck?


End file.
